Go Down Red Roses
by Fredrica
Summary: Darcy's life is changed forever on his 'Grand Tour' when he meets a strange count in Eastern Europe. After being mortally wounded rescuing Georgiana from Wickham's wicked wiles, Darcy retreats to Hertfordshire to hide his swift recovery. Fatally attracted to Elizabeth Bennet at the Assembly, he declares her 'not handsome enough to tempt him' but he knows this is far from the truth.
1. Compassion is everything

**Ok, here is a new story that's a bit different. I tried with my first four books to portray Regency life accurately. I will continue to do so but this book will contain a major fantasy element.**

 **I'm running the chapter-naming competition again. Send in your entries by review of the relevant chapter. I will announce the winner of the previous chapter when I post the next chapter. All chapter winners enter a draw to win one of five Kindle copies of the published book.**

 **Incidentally, not all of the five prizes for The Lectrice have been claimed, so check your ff inbox or my profile page if you entered. Thank you for your support. Your reviews keep me motivated and influence the story as I write,**

 **Fred**

* * *

 **Go down red roses**

(With apologies to Dorothy Hewitt)

 _Oh when shall we two meet again,_

 _In thunder, lightning or in rain?_

 _Your lips like red roses say my name,_

 _But you beseech me all in vain._

 _For I shall never give myself to he_

 _Who seeks my blood before he seeks me._

* * *

 **Chapter 1 Compassion is everything**

Darcy's life had changed irrevocably on his grand tour. Napoleon had been exiled to Elba. His cousin the Honourable Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam had been selected to accompany Wellington to Vienna as part of the peace negotiations, replacing Lord Castlereagh who had been at it for four months. And Richard had asked Darcy to come along—not officially, but as a guest. There was no time like the present to view the Continent, reasoned Colonel Fitzwilliam. Who knew how long the peace would last? Particularly when the negotiations were so protracted...

Richard and Darcy had grown up together in Derbyshire, and despite pursuing very different careers, the constant companionship of their youth had been kept up intermittently in London and in their native shire, and had only been seriously interrupted by Richard's participation in the Penisular Campaign of the long-running war with Napoleon. Richard knew that Darcy had always regretted the fact that the war had prevented him taking the grand tour after his graduation from Cambridge, as his father had done before him.

Instead of a tour, Darcy had spent six weeks in London after graduation, celebrating with his colleagues with whom he was discussing travel of an entirely different kind—he wished to join their scientific expedition to the North Pole. It was a journey Darcy longed to undertake although he knew it might be difficult to obtain his father's permission. After two days crafting the letter requesting paternal consent, Darcy had spent the entire week biting his nails, even though he knew he could not reasonably expect a response from his father in Derbyshire within the first three days.

Darcy never received a reply. Instead a letter from Mrs Reynolds arrived heralding the first disaster—his father had died unexpectedly. Instead of becoming a famous explorer like his friends, Darcy had posted home immediately to Pemberley to attend his father's funeral and assume the yoke of responsibility that was his patrimony: Master of Pemberley—an estate worth ten thousand a year; feudal lord to hundreds of dependants; custodian of an independent fortune built on industry and joint guardian with Richard Fitzwilliam of his nine-year old sister Georgiana, now orphaned.

It had been a shock. Not only had Darcy's dreams of pursuing a character-building career before assuming his patrimony been nipped in the bud, he hardly felt prepared to take over his parent's role. Darcy's father had only partly schooled him in his responsibilities, not having expected to meet his Maker so prematurely. Having grown up on the Pemberley estate, some things came as naturally to Darcy as the air he breathed, but for the most part he was back at school again, with his steward and his man of business as his tutors.

The trip to the Continent had at first seemed a wonderful break after six years as Master of Pemberley. The first two years had been years of stress as Darcy struggled to fill the shoes of his father, haunted by dreams that he was not equal to the task. In addition to management of the estate, there were interests in lead mines in Derbyshire and mills in the north—iron in Sheffield and textiles in Yorkshire—to be taken care off. But the initial stress of learning so much that was unfamiliar had gradually dissipated into boredom as the challenges seemed to leach from his life to be replaced by the endless grind of tedious work. The collection of rocks and fossils in his library, which had once been his joy, gathered dust while account books occupied all the space on his desk.

Worse still, even his evenings had begun to become interminable. Formerly he might have spent them relaxing with a volume of poetry or attending a lecture of the Royal Society—he had at least tried to keep up with the latest discoveries, even if he could not make them himself. But the evenings of the past year had largely been spent in ballrooms as his aunt, Lady Matlock, tried to find him a suitable bride as his third decade approached. It was not that he was fussy, Darcy insisted to his aunt, he just could find nothing in common with the pampered damsels she presented to him. Surely, if he was to spend the rest of his life with one of these ladies, they should at least be able to conduct some sort of rational conversation?

Thankfully, when the question of his 'Grand Tour' had been raised, his steward and his man of business had agreed that things were going so smoothly that they could do without him for a while. Gratefully, Darcy announced his intention to be off. His aunt, hoping he might find a suitable bride at the Congress wrote him several letters of introduction. Lady Matlock had spent some time at the French court before the disruption of the revolution and had high hopes for her restored Bourbon connections.

The Continent had indeed been a revelation. Darcy had spent a wonderful month in Vienna with his cousin. They engaged in swordplay early in the morning before Richard went off to the Congress while Darcy spent his days in libraries and museums. Less palatable were the evenings, when Darcy accompanied Richard to various diplomatic functions associated with the Congress, but at least these allowed Darcy to spend some time with his cousin. Of course, Richard was not entirely his own master at such events—he had to dance with the wives of various dignitaries. Darcy got to dance with their daughters, some of them very beautiful, but he had little enjoyment in it. These extremely well-to-do ladies seemed even more pampered and false than their English counterparts of the Ton. When the Congress continued to drag on in endless negotiation, the monotony of it all began to plague him. He got itchy feet. Darcy had taken to going off on side-trips to see a little more of the world beyond Vienna.

That was how he had ended up in Pest, which he'd been encouraged to visit by a young officer* whose father had started a grand library and whose mother had an enviable mineral collection. He had arrived at the recommended lodgings in Pest, which was a beautiful city built on the Danube in the vicinity of natural hot springs. On this fellow's advice, in the early mornings Darcy took a ferry across the river to Buda where he competed at singlestick before relaxing in the Turkish baths, which were a welcome change from the frigid weather he had experienced during the journey. Having exercised his body, he spent the rest of his days exercising his mind in the recommended Széchenyi library in Pest, walking back to his hotel after dark.

It was on his way back to his lodgings on his second evening in the city that Darcy got the uncanny feeling that he was being watched or followed. Darcy stopped several times and turned around but he never saw the slightest evidence of anyone lurking in the shadows; nor did he ever hear a footstep that could not be attributed to some harmless person in the street. The feeling continued intermittently during the following days. Darcy began to wonder if he was developing some strange psychosis as a result of being too much alone. He asked his valet Finn whether he had noticed anything unusual in their surroundings or in his own behaviour and was answered firmly in the negative.

The third day in the city started a trifle differently when the ferryman, who usually made his way across the wide Danube with the assistance of sail, was obliged to pick up his oars due to the unusual stillness of the air. One quarter of the way across, Darcy was already impatient to be at the baths so that he might sooner get to the library. Sitting down next to the ferryman, he demanded one of the oars and they sped across the river with great celerity, overtaking several other similar conveyances. Having reached the Buda side, Darcy had warmed up appreciably and, deciding that he had already sufficient exercise without the singlestick and sufficient warmth without the baths, he promptly paid the ferryman for both the forward and return journey and picked up his oar again. The ferryman looked at him with some incredulity, but took the proffered coins without demur. It was only when Darcy disembarked and headed off along the quayside that he heard the ferryman yell something to his compatriots in his native tongue which Darcy fancied translated as "mad Englishman".

But the feeling of being followed persisted, and Darcy began to notice an unusual black carriage—a very fine carriage such as might carry a member of the nobility, but rendered strange by the thick velvet curtains that shrouded its windows. He fancied he might have seen it on the quayside on that morning he had rowed across the river, but mostly he had noticed it standing outside the bibliotheca on several occasions when he emerged. Darcy had not thought much of it, merely assuming it belonged to another patron. Were it not for its funereally black colour and the curtains, he would likely not have noticed it at all. But when he spotted it again upon emerging from the library one evening after sunset, Darcy was in time to glimpse a startlingly pale face at the curtains, which was gone before he had a chance to further study it. Darcy had gone home, eaten his supper alone with his valet and retired. As he settled down in bed with a book, his valet had retreated to his dressing room where he slept on a camp bed.

That night Darcy had a strange dream. He dreamt that he woke to find that same pale face from the carriage staring in at him from the window of his hotel room, which was impossible, for he was on the second floor and the ledge outside would not have admitted a cat. He watched, mesmerised, as the figure opened the window and climbed inside. As the man approached, he moved with unusual grace. Darcy had every chance to study him, for in his dream everything occurred very slowly, as if the man was moving through treacle. The slowness was quite striking, almost portentous, and Darcy could only liken it to one other event in his life—a carriage accident that had taken the life of his coachman when a wheel had disintegrated at speed. He had remembered the horrible sound of the wheel cracking and then the slow tumbling as the carriage fell on its side and slid along the ground, drawn on by the terrified horses. The windows had broken and as Darcy held himself above the ground rushing beneath him, his legs and arms splayed against the floor and roof of the carriage, he was sprayed with glass and dirt. The moments before the body of the carriage became wedged in the earth and he realised that he had escaped serious injury had seemed to last for minutes, but could only have been a few seconds.

Darcy saw that with the exception of the man's top-hat, his clothes were rather outdated, like those of an older man; though the man did not look much older than himself. Darcy realised, too, that he had not at first noticed the style of the gentleman's clothes, for such he clearly was, because they were all entirely black—a black velvet cape thrown over a black tail coat embroidered with black thread, even black ruffles and lace. The gentleman was handsome despite his pallid countenance. His eyes seemed to glitter strangely in the darkness, like a cat's. When the gentleman reached Darcy's bed, he put out his hand, which was clad in a black glove and lightly touched Darcy on the chest. Although only his fingertips made contact, the gentleman was able to exert sufficient force to push Darcy backwards onto the mattress. Darcy had not resisted, but the steely force behind that gentle touch had been quite apparent. He felt very heavy, unable even to lift his head. Then the gentleman opened his mouth and in heavily accented but perfect English said:

"You are worthy, Englishman. I take you as my disciple. Go spread my creed to the English."

Darcy woke in the morning to find the window open, the cold air streaming in. It was when he got up to shut the casement that he found his valet sprawled on the floor with his body twisted in an unnatural way. Darcy's heart gave a strange leap of fright. He immediately concluded they had been burgled as he slept and quickly scanned the room, lest the intruder still be present; but no one was about.

Darcy felt a coldness creep over his skin that could not be ascribed to the chill of the room as he bent over Finn, fearing his man was dead. But despite his valet's icy cold hands, under his clothes his chest was still warm and his heart beat, though Darcy thought it unusually fast. Having arranged his valet in a more comfortable position on the floor, Darcy closed the window, tried to stir the hearth to life and, failing, rang for a chambermaid.

Then Darcy picked Finn up, removed his boots and placed him under the covers of his own bed. It was in doing so that he noticed two strange wounds on his valet's neck, like puncture marks, that had been hidden by his cravat. Darcy pulled the cravat off entirely, and stared at the marks. They did not seem consistent with shaving cuts. They were deep and crescent-shaped and his mind wanted to immediately attribute them to a snake, which he thought unlikely to be occupying their hotel room—but he checked under the bed and other likely places of concealment anyway. Still at a loss to think what could have caused such an injury, he more sensibly concluded that Finn's attacker must have been responsible and began to imagine cudgels with nails protruding from them.

When the chambermaid arrived to deal with the hearth, Darcy resolved to check their papers and money, fully expecting everything to be gone. But all was intact. He wracked his brain trying to think what the intruder could have been after. He could only think it must be a case of mistaken identity—the thief having entered the wrong room in the hotel. Clearly Finn had disturbed him and he had fled. Feeling guilty that he had not woken, Darcy checked Finn once more and finding his hands still icy, began to chafe them. By the time the chambermaid declared herself satisfied with the fire, Darcy had become so worried by his valet's lack of response to succour that he asked the maid to fetch a doctor. Once she left, Darcy did the only other thing he could think of to warm his valet up—he climbed into bed beside him.

The doctor took an inordinately long time to arrive. In his consternation, Darcy had rung the bell for the chambermaid twice to receive her assurances that help was on its way. But just after she departed for the second time, Finn awoke and Darcy's anxiety abated a little.

On questioning, his valet could remember nothing of his attacker. He had got up when he heard a strange noise, but beyond that his memory was a blank. He tried to get out of Darcy's bed but found himself so weak he could not even rise on his elbow. Darcy told him firmly to remain in bed, but rose himself to change into his day clothes before the doctor should arrive.

The doctor concluded that Finn had merely been hit with some object by their intruder; his rapid heartbeat he attributed to fright and prescribed laudanum for the shock.

Darcy did not go out that day, choosing to sit by the fire reading while his valet slept. Darcy got up regularly to check him. For the first few hours Finn's hands and feet remained cold, but towards the end of the evening a fever came upon him. Darcy rang for vinegar and barley water, fervently wishing he had his housekeeper's expertise to call on. But Reynolds was a thousand miles away. After midnight the fever seemed to mount and Darcy rang for a hip bath. After much grumbling, this was duly delivered by the butler of the hotel who exerted himself sufficiently to help Darcy undress Finn and lay him in the bath. After Darcy had hovered anxiously near Finn for several hours, his valet's fever suddenly abated and he began to shiver. Darcy promptly transferred him back to the bed, laying him on towels and blotting him with some more. Having drawn the covers over Finn, Darcy promptly fell asleep beside his valet atop the coverlet, fully clothed and still wearing his boots.

It must have been shortly before sunrise that he had another strange dream. The gentleman appeared at the window again and entered the room as before. Darcy seemed more alert this time but had the same sensation of heaviness. He wanted to ask the gentleman who he was, but his lips could not form the words. The gentleman bent over him and, taking off his glove, ran his finger along Darcy's cheek. It was as cold and steely as any knife.

"I knew I was not wrong about you, my beauty," the gentleman whispered and bent closer. "Compassion is everything."

Darcy woke to a loud knocking at the door. The sun was shining brightly and with a lurch, he realised he must have been asleep for several hours. He quickly checked Finn and, discovering him to be sleeping more comfortably, jumped up to answer the door. Finding it to be the chambermaid with their breakfast, Darcy deduced it must be after ten, when the coffee room below stopped serving while the midday meal was prepared. Grateful the butler had thought of them, Darcy apologised to the maid for keeping her standing in the hall and asked her to pass on his thanks to the butler. It turned out that their meal was due to the maid's solicitude.

Finn proved well enough to eat a little, propped up on his elbow, which greatly relieved Darcy. But afterwards his valet insisted on removing to his cot in the dressing room. Darcy tried to dissuade him from this exertion, pointing out that it was easier to watch over him if he was in the same room. Finn then suggested they solve this problem by moving his cot into the main room. It was clear that Finn was far too weak to participate in this operation. After reassuring his valet it was no trouble, Darcy easily moved the cot, leaving only a large scratch upon the doorpost of the dressing room in his efforts to move the cumbersome object.

They then spent a companionable day together. Darcy read to himself by the fire while Finn dozed. Darcy had high hopes they could return to their normal routine on the morrow, for they had but a week left before they had promised to return briefly to Richard in Vienna before choosing their next expedition and there was still much that he wanted to do. However towards the evening, Darcy realised that he was also running a temperature and he withdrew from the fire to sit near the cooler window. He thought it likely he had caught Finn's chill, but given he usually suffered less with any lurgy than his fellow men, it did not greatly concern him. A tray was brought for dinner, but it was left largely untouched by Darcy who had no appetite. Finally, it became difficult to read—his eyes felt too lazy to even scan the page— and, laying his book down, Darcy nodded off.

He woke in a fever to find the gentleman once more in the room.

"You will be more comfortable in your own bed," said he, and picking Darcy up easily, the gentleman conveyed him to the bed.

Darcy definitely knew he was dreaming then for he was no light weight: riding at thirteen stone and being over six feet in height. The man's icy hands were like a balm and in a moment of incoherence, Darcy imagined that the man might be his father, for he had only ever been carried in such a fashion as a youngster.

"Papa?" he managed.

"Yes, I am your father," the gentleman replied. "And already you grow stronger."

Darcy woke in his own bed the next morning and knowing the gentleman was a figment of his dreams, concluded he must have removed there himself sometime during the night. Finn was up and about and asked if he should go down to procure them some breakfast. Before Finn could properly complete this speech he broke into a paroxysm of coughing. Darcy told him he was not hungry but to ring the bell to have something brought up and to go back to bed.

Then the delirium set in. Darcy only had vague notions of being violently ill; Finn and the chambermaid lifting him off the bed, into the bath; thrashing about; a priest.

Finally, he came to his senses. It was a dull day outside, raining heavily. Darcy was still feeling unwell—the light bothered him and he felt odd—but he had regained his strength and could sit up in bed. He was able to eat for the first time, but the soup they brought him tasted strange, slightly tasteless, and the toast like cardboard. How he wished he was back in Derbyshire, with a steaming bowl of porridge cooked by Mrs Reynolds!

He ate what he could while Finn fussed over him and took the draught that was proffered. When the chambermaid knocked at the door, Finn let her in before apologizing to Darcy profusely, saying he needed to step out to the apothecary to get more of the doctor's prescription. The maid had agreed to sit with Darcy while Finn was away. His valet then donned gaiters, his coat and a hat, picked up an umbrella and departed.

Darcy felt very silly being watched over by the maid, as if he had returned to the nursery. Aside from the strangeness, he felt perfectly fine. After a halting exchange in three different languages, he made himself understood—the maid let herself out and locked the door behind her.

He had not intended to fall back asleep, having picked up a book to read, but the effort of scanning the lines must have been too much for him, for the next thing Darcy remembered was waking as the key scraped in the lock of the door. But it was not Finn who entered the room but the maid again. Darcy had only time to notice the blank look on her face when his heart froze, for out of the dimness of the hallway stepped the odd gentleman.

"Good morning," said the gentleman, holding the brim of his hat down over his eyes. "Forgive me, but would you mind if I drew the curtains?"

"Who are you?" croaked Darcy, alarmed by the transmogrification of his dreams, "and what do you mean by barging in here?"

Having closed the curtains, the gentleman returned to the bed.

"Thank you, my dear," he said, gently addressing the maid. "You may go."

The maid did not move but stared blankly at the gentleman with her mouth open. He gave her a gentle push and she turned and walked out the door very slowly, like an automaton. She did not lock the door behind her.

The gentleman removed his cloak, pulled up a chair and sat down in it.

"I apologise for this unheralded call, but it is not my first."

Darcy realised he was clutching the sheets protectively about his chest and tried to relax. Whatever this unexpected intrusion, the gentleman did not seem threatening.

"I remember you, from my dreams," he said.

"Ah? Do you? How interesting. I knew you were different from the moment I first..." the gentleman hesitated, "saw you," he concluded. "Please forgive me; my name is Charles Báthory."

"Báthory?"

"Yes, Báthory. Have you heard the name before?"

"I have. In Vienna."

"Do tell," urged the gentleman. "You may save me a world of bother."

"Well," said Darcy. "It is rather silly, actually. I accompanied my cousin to a salon given by a Madame Vauban. It was rather embarrassing—not the sort of thing I would attend at home. She was running a competition for the best hair-raising story—ghosts and that sort of thing. One of the Austrian officers related a story of Elizabeth Báthory. He called her The Blood Countess and claimed her story was true."

"Indeed, Elizabeth Báthory was a noblewoman whose life is very well documented. I am a relation of hers."

"I beg your pardon. I would not have said as much had I known. It is not then a common name?"

"No, but it is a proud one. But do not worry, you have not offended me. So you know the story and I can confirm that the basis of it is true."

"But you do not know all," protested Darcy. "The officer's story was quite ridiculous—he claimed she was a vampire."

"Indeed. And I am telling you it is true. When I claimed kinship earlier, I was being sly. I am, in fact, her son."

Darcy laughed uneasily. "But that is impossible! She was said to have lived two hundred years ago."

The gentleman merely nodded. "Well, Mr Darcy, for I believe that is your name, I realise you are a man of science, which is one of the reasons I chose you. So am I. I am a student of the natural world. Trees live for hundreds of years; so do some animals. What is so preposterous about a two hundred-year old man?"

"You jest," said Darcy. "Methuselah is said to have lived almost a thousand years, but that was before the flood, which seems to have changed things. Furthermore, I expect he showed his age. You look not much older than myself."

"And what if I were to tell you that like my mother, I am a vampire and that changes everything."

"I'm afraid I would not believe you."

The gentleman nodded, as if in agreement. "Your scepticism is natural. But think on the events of the last few days—your illness and that of your valet's. I have been watching you. I know you noticed the bite marks on your valet's neck. The doctor said he was in shock but were not some of his symptoms consistent with loss of blood? And... are you not feeling a little different?"

"My symptoms were completely different to those of my valet and I have no bite marks!" replied Darcy hotly.

"Your symptoms are different because I merely took blood from him, but I have transformed you. As to the bite marks, I bit him on the neck for a purpose; generally I take blood from the upper classes and their servants from less exposed arteries. Concealment is the only way if one is to avoid continually committing murder."

Darcy began to be a little afraid. Just who was this madman who spoke of vampires, immortality and murder and how was he to be rid of him? A silence stretched between them. You could have heard a pin drop.

"I beg your pardon," said the gentleman, getting up to don his cloak and hat. "I believe I have overstayed my welcome. Think carefully about what I have said and do not do anything rash. Once you have distilled your thoughts, just whisper to the breeze, "Charles, I believe you" and I will come.


	2. The Blood Countess

**Thanks** **to** ** _alix33_** **and** ** _LadyoftheLake23_** **for spotting errors.**

 **I've been copping a lot of flak on Amazon and Goodreads about using anachronistic words in my stories. If you think you find one let my know. Unfortunately the only reviewer who was willing to provide an example chose "puke" in _Time's Up_ , which is a 16th century word you will find in Shakespeare.**

 **Suggestions for title of chapter 1 were:**

 **"Change is on the breeze" by** ** _50of47_** **,**

 **"Dreams lost and changed" by** ** _Kaohing_** **,**

 **"Whispers in the Night..." by** ** _Chica De Los Ojos Cafe_**

 **"Darcy's transformation" it could have multiple meanings.. or "a biting encounter" or "Between dream and reality" by** ** _LauraStIves_** **.**

 **"A dream comes true!" by** ** _nessy22_** **,**

 **"Compassion is Everything" by** ** _Clara84_** **,**

 **"The man at the window" by me.**

 **Thanks for your suggestions, I think I'll go with "Compassion is everything" by** ** _Clara84_** **.**

* * *

 **Chapter 2 The Blood Countess**

Finn returned half an hour later, flustered and apologetic. He made up Darcy's draught immediately before offering a long-winded explanation of his delay. He had been about to step into the apothecary's shop when an urchin had grabbed his purse from his hand and disappeared into the crowd in the street. He had given chase but could not keep up; tried to find the proper authorities; gone back to the apothecary to beg to have the medicines on account—but all to no avail. He had been about to pledge his pocket watch at the pawnbroker's when a different urchin had approached him in the street with his purse, offering only a 'sorry' in Romany before disappearing like his comrade. None of the money had been taken.

Half an hour after taking the draught, Darcy fell into a troubled sleep. He dreamed he was running alone through a snowy forest when he came upon a man dressed in rags gathering wood. The man dropped his bundle upon seeing him and screamed at the top of his lungs whereupon Darcy leapt upon him and tore his throat out. As the bright red blood splattered vivid against the pristine white snow, he had felt completely free of any proper revulsion. But as it splashed the backs of his hands, he had realised they were not human hands but paws. He woke with a raging thirst.

Finn procured him ale and then tea but neither of these quenched his thirst. Finally Darcy realised what he really needed was food—a beefsteak, rare.

Over the next few days Darcy's strength recovered but the feeling of strangeness increased. The light bothered him to the point of giving him headaches and his teeth ached. He stopped taking the laudanum because it seemed to fuel his disturbingly violent dreams. The gentleman did not return but Darcy thought about their conversation incessantly.

It was on the third day that Finn suggested a bath. The hip bath was carried into the room and filled with twenty pails of water. After Finn slipped the brocade dressing gown off his shoulders, Darcy immersed himself with gratitude in the warm water, thinking how much he missed his hot morning dip in Buda. It was only after Finn handed him the soap and departed that Darcy discovered the scabs on his inner thigh. He froze as a coldness crept over him that had nothing to do with the brisk air in the room. Feeling with his fingers, Darcy could tell there were two scabs, spaced similarly to the wounds on Finn's neck. Still, his mind refused to believe the evidence of his touch and he stepped out of the bath quietly to retrieve the shaving mirror that Finn had left on the clothes press. His eyes confirmed the existence of the scabs and also revealed the distinctive crescent shape of the wounds.

Numbed, Darcy stepped back into the bath in shock, his mind turning over the gentleman's words. That he and Finn had both been attacked by this self-confessed 'vampire', he could no longer doubt, but whether there was any foundation to his fantastical story was another question.

Over the next few days as he tried unsuccessfully to return to his normal routine, Darcy's doubts turned to worry. His teeth continued to ache—often a dull general ache but sometimes a more localised pain in his incisors, such that he imagined he might be growing fangs. Repeated examination in the mirror revealed no difference but he fancied those teeth felt sharper with his tongue. The headaches continued intermittently, though Finn kept the curtains closed as Darcy had requested. The pain was quite different to anything he had experienced before—deep inside his head rather than near his forehead as he had heretofore suffered from the occasional headache. On the single trip he managed to the library one rainy morning, he found the light almost blinding, the pain lancing though his skull as if split by an axe. Pulling the brim of his hat down over his eyes, Darcy hailed a carriage to convey him. Once inside the darkened library, he recovered sufficiently to read and spent his day cowering inside in the blessed dimness before returning to his hotel on foot in the early evening.

Darcy did not fully recover his sense of taste after his illness subsided. He fancied things smelt different as well, particularly people. He became more sensitive to their odours. When the maid walked in on Wednesday, he immediately knew she had her menses. He continued to crave bloody beefsteaks, which Finn procured from an inn down the road that catered to the gentry. Darcy became quite fussy about his food, sending the steaks back to the kitchen if they were not less than very rare. He realised that the searing of the outside only appealed to his sensibilities—he did not relish the outer skin of caramelised flesh as he formerly had done at all.

Towards the end of the week his attention became fixated on the menstruating maid. When Darcy began dreaming of her improperly, he requested Finn to ban her from his rooms. The girl, who had only served them with zeal and kindness, was thankfully removed from his sight. The poor thing was no doubt wondering how she had caused offence.

But if Darcy thought he had rid himself of his chief source of torment by banishing the maid he was wrong. His mind turned to Finn and he began to wonder about those two scabs on his valet's neck—whether they were well healed or, if scratched, might not yet bleed.

The final straw came one evening after Darcy and his valet had both lay down to sleep. Darcy dreamt he got up and walked into the dressing room, to which Finn's cot had been restored. He bent over his valet to watch him breathe, then lightly touched the scabs on Finn's neck, exposed by his night shirt. It was only when Finn sighed and reached his arm out to stroke the stubble on Darcy's jaw that Darcy realised that he was not dreaming at all. Startled from his reverie by Finn's touch, Darcy stumbled back suddenly, knocking into the clothes press, and fled to his own room. Donning his dressing gown, he built up the fire and sat shivering beside it, more from fright than cold. He ran his tongue over his teeth again and was sure they were sharper. He sat there for he knew not how long in a welter of indecision, afraid that he might fall back asleep and resume his bizarre sleepwalking. Finally, feeling like he might be descending into madness, he said the fateful words, "Charles, I believe you."

Nothing happened immediately. Feeling decidedly foolish, Darcy rubbed his eyes and rested his forehead on his hand to stare morosely into the fire. But after five minutes had passed, there was a scratching at the window. When Darcy threw open the casement to investigate, there was Charles Báthory in his cloak, clinging to the stonework like some gigantic bat. Darcy stared at him.

"Well?" asked the gentleman. "Are you not going to stand aside so that I might enter?"

Darcy stepped back reflexively. "Do I not have to invite you in?"

The gentleman gave a little chuckle as he stepped across the windowsill. "That is only what they tell small children so that they might go to sleep after being told a scary story. I am just as able to cross a threshold as you are."

Darcy peered out the window. "How did you get up here?"

"I jumped and climbed. Any strong, nimble man could do as much. I am sure you could do the same."

"It is two storeys. I would fear for my life."

"You will find you have already developed amazing powers of strength and regeneration. Cut your finger with your razor if you wish to put it to the test. If you jumped from this window, you would land like a cat and feel none the worse for it."

Darcy shut the window slowly, suddenly at a loss as to how to continue the conversation.

The gentleman removed his hat and, sweeping his cloak to the side, sat down by the fireside at his ease. "I am glad that you called me. It has almost been a week and I feared you would succumb to your violent urges. The resistance you have shown is remarkable. But now is the most dangerous time, for you have the urge to drink but not yet the apparatus. Newly made vampires are the most violent and destructive; they can destroy whole villages. But do not worry. I am here to mentor you so that you may pass through this terrible phase with the least amount of harm to the populace."

"So these ungodly desires I have been experiencing... you urge me to act on them? I had hoped you could provide succour! Do you tell me you go out every night to rip people's throats out?"

"Of course not. As you now aware, I merely drink a little of their blood, quite tidily. Although you are not yet able to do this, I propose that you join me rather than resort to wholesale carnage."

"But it is repugnant!"

"You will find it less so as soon as you have tried it and it is certainly better than murder."

Darcy shook his head, whether in disbelief or denial, he was not sure. He sank down into the other chair by the hearth, numb.

"Let me tell you a little of my history, while you cogitate," said Báthory, crossing one leg over the other and stroking the poker he had picked up.

"To my friends, I style myself Count Báthory, for such was my father, and though I am the youngest son, all my relatives who could lay claim to the title are dead. My mother was a widow, known throughout Hungary for her charity and piety. She and I kept our ancestral estates for my brothers, who had gone off to seek glory through war. My sisters were all married. When I was twenty-five, my mother was transformed by a young noblewoman from Transylvania who had joined her court, Lady Ursula Meggyesi.

"Although my mother naturally assumed that this girl—who we thought but sixteen—was a maid, it soon became apparent that men of the court visited her chambers nightly. My mother was a very pious woman and would not tolerate her behaviour. One night she made an unannounced call on this lady's chambers and discovered her locked in a passionate embrace with one of the courtiers. On being disturbed, the girl flew at my mother, her lips covered with blood, and attacked her.

"Subsequently my mother developed these strange urges, which you are now experiencing. She would not give into them, though the young noblewoman counselled her that it was the path of least mortification and offered to help initiate her into her ways. Instead, my mother banished the girl to her homeland, cursing her for having ever set foot in our castle. My mother prayed for strength, calling on the help of the priest who was her confessor. She held out for almost two months, which I can tell you is something remarkable. Then the killings began.

"I loved my mother," Báthory said pensively. "It just so happened that I was one of the men who had been enthralled by the Lady Meggyesi—though I thank God that it was not I whom my mother found with her. Of that time, I remember only being in love with Ursula. Once my mother began to kill, it stirred some memory of my true interactions with Ursula. I began to wonder whether she had loved me at all or merely used me to slake the terrible thirst that I could see now consumed my mother. But there was no doubt that the polite drinking of a man's blood during a pleasant tryst was far more civilised than murder. Daily I was forced to dispose of mutilated corpses I discovered in my mother's chambers, which she had dragged there before collapsing from satiety. After one of these episodes, she would be completely normal for a week or so. But when the thirst overwhelmed her, it would bring temporary insanity. She was completely ignorant that she was the cause of so many deaths, believing some terrible contagion had struck the castle.

"During one of her more lucid interludes, I locked her in a tower, telling her it was for her own safety. I instructed my own trusted servant not to open the door but to supply my mother with fresh meat, which is what I assumed she needed based on the corpses. Then I set out for Transylvania to find the Lady Meggyesi, hoping my mother could be cured.

"I did find Ursula and she welcomed me back as a lover. She told me that there were no cure for the malady; that it could only be kept in check by drinking the blood of others. She explained why she kept so many lovers: that the only safe way was to either take a sip from each or drain them dry; and that she did not fancy continually murdering the source of her sustenance. A longer drink would transform her lovers into vampires like herself. This she had done purposefully to my mother in her rage because of her lack of charity towards Ursula's condition, though she said she later regretted it.

"I could not love Ursula after that. I had erroneously assumed that her injury to my mother was accidental. But I hid my malice towards her well and stayed with her to try and learn how I might lessen my mother's suffering.

"I asked her why she did not take a vampiric lover as a companion. She explained that vampires could not draw nourishment from each other—both would go hungry. She told me how few people have enough self-discipline to be successful vampires. To take only a small sip requires incredible self-control. Most vampires leave a wake of destruction in their paths, destroying whole villages. She had been the victim of such a vampire. Her natural repugnance for drinking the blood of others had led her to discover the secret of drinking only a little.

"Armed with my new knowledge, I bid her farewell. But when I returned to the castle, I discovered Mother had killed my servant and escaped from the tower. She had rampaged throughout the castle for days killing everyone she encountered until her brother was called from his stronghold, two days away. With some of his men, he had managed to lock her once more in the tower. I found her in a pitiful state in a blood-stained gown, surrounded by the desiccated bodies of rats. With the advice Ursula had given me, I thought I would be able to manage my mother's state. I convinced my uncle that she was merely insane and that I would keep her under lock and key. He returned home and for a while we returned to an existence which approximated our former life.

"Unfortunately I was unable to convince my mother of the necessity of accepting her condition. In her lucid moments, her piety would not even allow her to acknowledge it. Still, for years I was able to manage her condition by getting her to drink blood, which I convinced her was a form of communion. I brought a surgeon to the castle who regularly cupped all the courtiers and servants, ostensibly to decrease their plentitude. They were convinced they would live longer lives as a result of this treatment, which was true in its own way," he said wryly.

"During the five years I was able to manage my mother, she developed long fangs, which she could retract into her jaw. She was completely unaware of them, but she would bare them occasionally when she slept; as she dreamed. All went well until her confessor died—of natural causes. This priest had known my mother before her affliction; knew how charitable and pious she had been—and still was during her good times. He was the one who had ridden to my uncle's castle for succour. He had also accepted without question the strange customs of our household after her change. I really doubted I would be so lucky in his successor and I tried to convince Mother that we could do well without another member of the priesthood in our household. But when Father Matthias's body was returned to the monastery, I was unable to dissuade her from writing for a replacement.

"My worst fears were confirmed. The new priest thought the blood I had persuaded my mother to take a sacrilege, specifically barred by St Paul. Within two weeks of his arrival, she went on another rampage, killing the priest and another member of the household. In attempting to subdue her I discovered that she had also grown inordinately strong. Still, with two trusted servants, I managed to return her to her rooms, which I had fortified as a precaution. But in doing so she sank her fangs into my shoulder.

"Having experienced the same fate, I do not need to describe the aftermath for you—the fevers and pain of the transformation—but know that I suffered greatly, for my mother had drained such a quantity of blood from me that it took me two weeks to get up from my bed. Thankfully the surgeon was able to supply me with blood to drink in the meantime. I did not repine my transformation. Indeed, it had occurred to me more than once to return to Ursula and beg her to transform me—that I might better understand and manage my mother. Ursula had not revealed to me the vampiric aspect of longevity, possibly immortality. I only discovered that later. Had I known, I would have been more eager to join my mother in her condition—or so I thought when I first discovered it.

"At last, when I was able to arise from my bed, my servant revealed that my uncle was again in residence; that he had locked my mother once more in the tower. I immediately went to check on her welfare, only to discover to my horror that my uncle had caused the entrance to be blocked with stone. In vain did I plead with him. He told me my mother had brought disgrace to my family. He had me restrained and I was still too weak to fight. He kept me under guard in my chambers for two months until he was satisfied that my mother was beyond succour. Then he left for his own castle."

"He starved his sister to death?" interpolated Darcy in shock.

"The priest was from an important family. The Church was demanding that my mother be tried for her crimes, which would surely have resulted in her execution. My uncle had assured the Church she would be punished. He considered starvation a less ignominious death than she would have received through justice.

"I buried my mother. Then I left the castle and disappeared."

"So you are not immortal!" said Darcy, who was beginning to believe the tale might be within the bounds of possibility.

"No. When I mentioned immortality it was merely in the context of lifespan. I have not aged appreciably since I was transformed. But we can be killed."

Darcy's mind was a whirl. Charles Báthory's tale had so engrossed him, that he had completely forgotten his thirst. The tumult of his mind had surged above the background nag of his headache. He jumped up and began to pace. The gentleman also stood and, retrieving a tankard from the mantelpiece, tipped the remaining ale it contained into the ashes of the hearth.

He then produced a hip flask and poured its contents into the tankard, offering to it Darcy, saying, "You do not wish to attack your valet."

Darcy took the tankard tentatively. It was half-filled with a dark liquid, but if it was, as he feared, blood and not wine, he only wondered for a moment. For as soon as the smell of it reached his nostrils, he grabbed the tankard greedily and tipped its contents into his mouth. The effect was immediate. Darcy had tried an opium pipe once at university—just as a scientific experiment. The rapture he had experienced was nothing to this.

"Oh!" he gasped, dropping the tankard, which the count caught with a lightning movement halfway to the floor.

As overcome as Darcy was, the count's unnervingly quick reaction did not escape him.

"So," said the count, replacing the tankard gently on the mantle. "I hope that has taken the edge off your thirst. But you will need more again tomorrow. As much as I am enjoying our chat, I too, am thirsty. I suggest we meet at the theatre tomorrow night. I took the liberty of hiring a box. Here is the token. I expect you will have many questions to ask."

With that the count donned his hat, bowed and disappeared out the window.


	3. Assault and Báthory

" **Transformation** **and Understanding" by** ** _JAFFfan_** **,**

 **"Thirsting for control" by** ** _ansujali_** **,**

 **"The Blood Countess" or "The Bloody Lady of Csejte" by** ** _Laure Saintyves,_**

 **"Bloodthirsty" by** ** _CillaT_** **,**

 **"A Changed Man" or "I'll Have the Red" by** ** _YepItsMe_** **,**

 **"Elizabeth's Reckoning" by** ** _Dizzy Lizzy.60_** **,**

 **"Of Blood and Sacrifice" by** ** _danannb_** **,**

 **"A Whisper in the Night..." by** ** _Chica De Los Ojos Cafe_** **,**

 **"Assault and Bathory," by a guest**

 **"The countess's story" by me.**

 **Oh! So many good ones. I was particularly amused by "I'll Have the Red" by** ** _YepItsMe_** **and "Assault and Bathory" by a guest. I'll enter them immediately for the next chapter.**

 **As an aside, clearly even if you win the chapter round, you can't win a prize if you are not logged in. For one thing, I can't contact you.**

 **I think I will go with "The Blood Countess" by** ** _Laure Saintyves._**

* * *

 **Chapter 3 Assault and Báthory**

The euphoria of the blood left Darcy in a daze. He felt like the room had suddenly gained an extra dimension. He walked around touching things: the cold marble of the mantel, the wood of a chair, the glass of the window, the material of the coverlet on his bed. Everything seemed somehow different, better. Eventually Darcy was overcome by lassitude and he crawled into his bed, blessedly free from the headache that had plagued him for the whole week.

When Darcy woke in the morning he felt fresh and reenergised only to remember that something terrible had happened. _My_ _father_ _is_ _dead_. _No._.. _Something_ _else_. Then he remembered Charles Báthory. He felt his inner thigh, hoping it had all been a terrible dream. But the scabs were there and his heart fell into a pit of despair. _Am I dead? Undead? What of Pemberley? Of Georgiana? What has that bastard done to me!_

His rage and frustration were mounting when his valet entered the room.

"Ah! You are awake, sir. How is your head? Were you able to get some sleep?"

Darcy was forced to stifle his anger and hide his inner turmoil. "I slept well enough, thank you, Finn. My headache is gone."

"May I open the curtains?"

"Yes," said Darcy, swiftly followed by a "No!" when the bright light of the sunny day blinded him and stabbed at his viscera.

Finn shut the curtains again with an apology. "I beg your pardon, sir. Would you like me to procure some breakfast for you? Another steak?"

"I am not particularly hungry, Finn. Go down to breakfast yourself. Take your time and bring me some coffee and a roll on your return."

"Very good, sir. Let me get you your dressing gown before I go."

After the dressing gown was slipped tenderly onto Darcy's shoulders, Finn departed and Darcy was left once more to his ruminations. His valet's entrance had pushed his mind towards more practical considerations. He had been due to return to Vienna on the morrow but he had been considering delaying his departure for several days to regain his health. Now he was unsure if he would ever make the trip. He could not return to his cousin in Vienna or to England and his sister as a vampire, if that was indeed what he now was.

He was still having some trouble suspending his disbelief. Certainly, he was ill with something. It occurred to Darcy that the count might have tricked him last night by simply putting opium in wine. He could remember nought of the taste, only its after-effects. Darcy grabbed the tankard on the mantel; but what remained of its contents was only a sticky dark coating dried on the bottom of the mug. Upon wetting his finger with spit, he thought it tasted faintly of copper and made his tongue tingle—which meant exactly nothing. Still, what of the count and his uncanny ability to climb buildings? his entrancement of the maid? There was nothing else for it—Darcy needed more information and must delay his departure. Grabbing the nécessaire containing his writing materials, he sat down at the table to pen a message to his cousin.

He had just finished this when Finn returned with a tray. His valet bustled in to set it down on the table as Darcy was sanding and sealing his note. Placing the rolls and coffee in front of his master, Finn removed the tankard on the mantle to the tray, then picked up something lying next to it.

"A token for the opera, sir?"

"Ah!" said Darcy, suddenly remembering his rendezvous. "A gentleman I met at the library invited me to his box."

* * *

Darcy spent the day in turmoil waiting for his next meeting with the gentleman. He churned over every word Count Báthory had uttered in their two short conversations and even in Darcy's dreams—for Darcy now realised that he must have been partially awake. He examined every action of the count's—his weird acrobatics, his uncanny control over the maid. Darcy's thoughts fluctuated wildly between the hopeful thought that the gentleman was a madman and the dread that the count was what he claimed; that the count had consigned him to perdition and potentially the Darcy line to extinction—for Darcy was the only male to carry his family's name in his generation.

Perhaps the gentleman was not a count at all or even a relative of the Báthorys, which line was extinct and not able to disclaim him? What had he meant when he said, 'Go spread my creed to the English?' Was he building up some vampire army? Planning to step into the shoes of Napoleon now the emperor was exiled to Elba? That did not seem consistent with 'Compassion is everything'. In addition the counts actions and words suggested he had been stalking Darcy, had specifically chosen to transform him. What had been his reason? That Darcy was a 'man of science'? How did that make him better fitted to be a vampire? Surely, the opposite!

Despite having written to Richard that morning of his intent to delay his departure from Pest, Darcy briefly contemplated fleeing the city after all—not back to Vienna, but to anywhere else, far away from the count. On the heels of that wish came the remembrance of his violent dreams, his terrible urges and the realisation that the count might be the only person who could prevent Darcy turning into a monster. He acknowledged it would not be wise to flee before he knew more.

In the afternoon, Darcy's headache returned and he felt the first ticklings of the thirst in his throat. Finn encouraged him to lie down on the bed and fetched some wine for Darcy to sip. The wine was again strangely tasteless and it was only then that Darcy realised that the breakfast he had consumed in the morning after partaking of the drink offered by the count last night had been his first tasty meal in a week.

* * *

Darcy was nervous as he handed the token to the usher and followed him up the stairs. He was unhappy about meeting the count in public, not wishing to advertise his acquaintance with a person who was either a madman or a demon.

The count was waiting for him in the box and got up to make an elegant leg upon Darcy's entrance. The candles in the box were not lit and as the count sat down, Darcy noticed that he was sitting well back from the edge of the box so that he could see the stage but not be easily seen. Grateful, Darcy joined him, surreptitiously pulling his fauteuil a little further back from the edge of the box as he seated himself.

As the orchestra tuned their instruments in the pit, the count began making idle chit-chat as if they were old friends. Darcy responded resentfully in monosyllables, his anger mounting, until

finally he burst out with:

"Why me?"

The count hushed him and continued with his inconsequential monologue until the band struck up the overture.

"Forgive me. The walls in these boxes are thin but I do so enjoy the opera. Why you? I must be honest, I am lonely. That is the ironic misery of immortality. One's friends die. I need a companion to keep me sane."

At the look of alarm on Darcy's face, the count held up his hand. "Do not worry. I have no intention of preventing your return to England. I only ask that you write."

"I have no intention of going back to England in this state," responded Darcy in a hiss. "If what you say is true, how can I trust myself?"

"The condition is manageable and I intend to show you how. But we digress... Why specifically you? You are not the first companion I have made but I hope you will be the last. The others turned out to be not suitable despite my best efforts. They are all gone, some through my own agency.

"I have realised over the years that specific qualities are needed for success in our condition. To discover these qualities, it finally occurred to me that I needed only to look within myself. The chief are extraordinary strength of mind and compassion, for which I must thank my mother; her only fault was an inflexibility of mind. My previous fault was in not recognising the importance of compassion. With you I believe I have found both these qualities and much more. You are a man of science. I hope that together we will be able to solve the riddle of our condition. As soon as I began to observe you I was intrigued. Until then, the possibility that my continued existence on this earth might have a higher purpose had not occurred to me. You have made the scales fall from my eyes."

Darcy was incredulous. "You consider yourself some sort of divine being?"

The gentleman laughed. "No, but I believe that I—we—may be able to help the human condition. We are freaks—human, but altered. Our state must be enlightening on the nature of longevity. Granted our habits are deplorable. But what if the two could be separated?"

Darcy was thunderstruck by this viewpoint, as if he had suddenly glimpsed the Holy Grail. He nodded, considering as the gentleman continued:

"There is something else about you that intrigued me. I knew it as soon as I encountered you. Does your physician in England cup you regularly?"

"Yes," said Darcy frowning, wondering how this was relevant. "Despite being a man of good habits, my father died in his early fifties. Our family doctor thought it a case of plentitude and suggested I be cupped regularly to prevent the same outcome."

"Indeed, it is a common malady in you Norman noblemen, is it not? One of the theories I have about this state we now share is that it arises from a special need for iron. Are you aware that blood contains red globules that are the seat of iron? I believe it is possible that your plentitude may arise from an excess of iron. I wonder how your slightly different physiology will cope with it? If am correct, your tendency to retain iron may result in your needing to ingest less of it."

"I see no evidence of that. I am ravenous. Perhaps my body is instead greedy for iron?"

The count laughed softly. "You see! Already you challenge me and make me think! But stay. Do you believe yourself unsafe in public? Should we leave now?"

"No. Whatever you gave me last night helped, but I feel the symptoms building."

"The transformation is the worst time. Trust me. The headaches and more uncomfortable symptoms will abate. After two hundred years," said the count, leaning closer, "I feel no more than an ordinary hunger."

"And these others you spoke of—those you transformed before me—how long did they last?"

"They could not control themselves," said the count dismissively. "Some did not even try. Some descended quickly to the state of animals; others thought they had become gods. Some were the architects of their own demise; others I had to seek out for the protection of the populace."

"So you are the only one who has navigated this transformation successfully?"

"Of course not. You forget Ursula, and I have heard of others, though I have never met them. We tend to be solitary creatures. Trust is a rare commodity. It will be a test, but I believe you have the fortitude to conquer it."

When the curtain fell on the final act of the opera, Darcy could not believe the time had passed so quickly. He had not paid much attention to the stage. The opera was not one he recognised and could not hold his attention. After the gentleman's first speech, Darcy had lapsed into silence, caught between contemplation of life as a monster like Elizabeth Báthory and the window of hope the count had offered where he, Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, might finally find his higher purpose in discovering the fountain of youth.

The gentleman had sat beside him, companionably enjoying the opera. Afterwards, the count had ushered him out of the box and they had descended the stairs by a route different to the one Darcy had taken on entering the building. Lost in a moment of introspection, Darcy suddenly realised they were backstage, a place he had never ventured before, not being an aficionado of opera dancers like his cousin Richard. He looked around at the ropes, sandbags and painted scenery as he absentmindedly followed the count. Finally they reached a door with a star painted on it. A beautiful woman opened it and stepped back to let the count enter, her eyes shining. Darcy recognised the soprano from her costume. Thus began his initiation.

* * *

Over the next week, Darcy hid in his chambers during the day and went out at night with the count. For Finn's benefit, these outings were ostensibly to the theatre or the opera, but after the pleasant initiation with the soprano Anna Villette, they visited less salubrious places to seek blood.

These visits were initially so repugnant to Darcy that he wondered aloud whether it might not be better to exist on cupped blood taken by a surgeon, such as he had drunk from the hip flask. The count replied that the sooner he learned to fend for himself and control himself the better.

The count bit peasants on the neck, wiping them first with a handkerchief soaked in vinegar and afterwards staunching the blood with a powder he carried on him. He told Darcy that the canaille were so scratched and dirty from their everyday lives that their wounds were never thought remarkable. He called those he preyed on 'donors' rather than 'victims' since he claimed they hardly noticed their loss. He avoided women with their menses, saying that even though they were tempting, they needed their blood the most. Similarly he passed by several dwellings where he said the women were pregnant. He taught Darcy the smell of anaemia, which was different in men and women.

The count carried an expensive pocket watch with a third hand that marked the seconds. This he watched assiduously as he and Darcy drank, never letting the total time pass more than a minute. Darcy could understand why so few of the count's previous initiates had followed his ways, for it was extremely difficult to withdraw once the rapture set in, but he managed it.

Each night they visited a slightly different part of the city. At the end of their rounds the count always left money in a pot at a gypsy caravan drawn up in the street. When Darcy recognised this same caravan in a new location in the vicinity of their rounds on the second night, he asked if they were confederates.

"Indeed," replied the count. "I call them my keepers. I always conscript such as they in any region I visit. They distribute meat to the donors to replenish them so that I might not be enervating them—a practice you should institute on your estates. Do not take blood from the same donors more than once in a lunar cycle, lest they sicken and die."

"So these gypsies are aware of your nature?"

"Certainly not. It is not safe to divulge it to anyone. They merely think me a public benefactor."

Thus Darcy learnt of the count's depredations on the populace. Aside from the occasional lover of his own order or the demi-monde, like Anne Villette whom he had visited before on her tours, the count confided that he kept to the lower orders. The bourgeois he assiduously avoided, deeming them dangerous as donors, too educated and prim.

"Ursula managed to subsist largely on donors of her own order, but unless you are a Don Giovanni, I would not recommend it. It is very easy to make them sicken over time. She managed her donors as well as a shepherdess manages her flock, but I prefer to range further afield."

On the third day, the count presented Darcy with a small knife, something like an awl, a smaller version of an Italian stiletto. The count explained that if Darcy was to take blood alone without gross injury before his fangs had emerged, he would need it. The count then instructed him in the manner of safely breaching the usable veins and arteries near the surface. A surgeon could not have been more methodical. Darcy was a quick learner.

On the fifth day the count taught him mesmerism, or attempted to. It did not come easily to Darcy; but as he had never been good at finding friends or influencing people, it did not much surprise him. The count entered dwellings by the means of windows or sometimes doors. His cane was a stout sword stick, which he used to unbar doors. Darcy could not help but think that the dangerous bourgeois were also less accessible, being able to afford glass in their windows and locks.

Accompanied by his student, the count preyed upon the sleeping, which made his instruction of Darcy easier. The donors did not wake easily but if they stirred, the count whispered soothingly to them to great effect. But on one particular night, the man they were visiting yelled out in his dreams before he was subdued, and the daughter of the house entered the room. Alerted by her footsteps, Darcy merged back into the shadows, but the count stepped boldly forward to meet her. He stared at her intently, whispered, stroked her cheek and eventually got her to return unharmed to her own room in a trance-like state.

"She was difficult, that one," said the count. "She has a strong mind despite her humble origins. That is why I did not take blood from her. Avoid people like her. They are trouble."

Later that evening the count took Darcy to a brothel. This was not to indulge the flesh. The count merely wished to better explain mesmerism to Darcy and allow him to practise on the girls. The girls were highly amused by the count's parlour tricks and one was even nice enough to pretend she was entranced by Darcy's efforts. He was not a success but towards daybreak he thought he might eventually get the knack of it.

On the sixth day, the count began to teach him of distinctions in sense and taste, and this was where Darcy failed more significantly in his lessons. The count explained that as the fangs developed, the donor's blood was absorbed more directly; some donor's blood was less agreeable than others and could make him feel ill. He had initially found the blood of such people unappetising and avoided them; had learned to distinguish them by smell. But in desperation, he had on occasion drunk from them anyway. Once his fangs had developed, the count related, the blood of these people gave him a fever. He warned Darcy to beware of this phase of his existence.

While Darcy could detect the different scent of these people and agreed their blood was less tasty, his ability to distinguish the two groups was far from reliable. All those the count thought unpalatable, Darcy agreed, but there were others who smelled equally unappetising to Darcy whom the count thought perfectly fine. The count assured him his senses would become more acute in time.

On the whole, the count was very satisfied with the progress of his pupil's skills—his marvellous self-control, his ... humanity. But sometime towards the end of the week, the count warned Darcy of the necessity of being ruthless when it was required, lest great harm come to everyone.

"In addition to showing restraint, one must deal with one's mistakes promptly. Occasionally you may transform someone accidentally, regardless of how assiduous you are with your timepiece. Some donors seem more easily transformed. They are rare and I have not been able to discern a pattern. You must deal with them swiftly before they can create a plague of vampires. I always leave some carrier pigeons behind me with the keepers wherever I go. I tell them to send a pigeon if they are ever in trouble and I will come."

"But surely the gypsies are illiterate," observed Darcy. "How do you know from whence the pigeon has come?"

"Each bird has a tag stating its origin and a date. The latter is necessary because I revisit the same regions over time. The anomalous vampires typically emerge several months after being bitten, much longer than the usual time taken for transformation."

"And does this occur often?" said Darcy, shuddering.

"In my lifetime, I have had to deal with fewer than ten instances. The first few, which caught me off my guard, caused some damage. Ursula neglected to warn me of them. Dealing only with a tight-knit group, she was always able to detect threats and deal with them swiftly. I set up the pigeon system eventually. So be vigilant."

On the seventh day, the count was late. It was a full hour after Count Báthory had vouchsafed to call that the maid knocked on the door of Darcy's room. Finn immediately passed on the proffered letter. It was quite short. The count begged his forgiveness. There was a situation in the east. He did not know when he would next be in Pest. He advised Darcy not to wait for him but to return to Vienna or England as he desired. He begged him only to write regularly; that he greatly anticipated their collaboration. The maid then revealed the count had also forwarded some effects. The most unusual of these was a large wicker cage of pigeons. Finn raised his eyebrows.

* * *

After the count left, so did Darcy's acceptance of his situation. He began to worry that he had just as surely been entranced by the count over the past week as the mesmerised maid had been. Darcy dwelt upon his activities with remorse, his future with despair. He did not take blood for the first few days, retreating to his bed on the second when he began to shake all over. Finn wished to summon the doctor but Darcy would not let him.

Finally on the third day, when thoughts of harming Finn returned, Darcy was forced to act. He visited the streets he had trodden with the count. With a shaky hand he pierced arteries and veins, assisted by his knife as well as the watch and the powder the count had left him. When he passed the gypsy caravan on his way back to his hotel, he left money in the pot as the count had done before him. He returned to his lodgings sated but woke in a wretched state, having dreamed he was a vampire bat, which creatures of the Americas he had learned of in lectures of the Royal Society.

Over the next few days, Darcy fed while he seriously contemplated suicide. He wrote another letter to Richard, suggesting that if anything should become of him, that he should marry Georgiana and begged him to take the Darcy name. Finally, he began to think of ways and means—slashing his throat with his razor, stepping in front of a carriage, falling from the steeple of Saint Matthias—but he recalled the count's speech on his regenerative abilities and began to fear his efforts might not be enough. As a test, Darcy cut his finger as the count had suggested, and was aghast when the inch-long gash healed within the hour. He began to think that nothing short of self-immolation or obliteration might be effective.

Darcy's increasingly morbid thoughts were interrupted one afternoon as he lay shivering in his bed, having neglected to feed again on the previous night. To rid himself of Finn's solicitude, he had sent his valet to the library, ostensibly to copy some text from a book on geology he had been reading before his transformation. So Darcy was obliged to answer the knock at the door himself.

In the hallway was a cheerful gentleman who, from his dress and his features, Darcy assumed to be a rich English Cit.

"Good afternoon," said the affable gentlemen, giving a coin to the maid. "Forgive me for introducing myself. I am Charles Bingley. I have a letter from your cousin."


	4. The Phoenix

**I've started the Pinterest board for this story, just google 'Fredward1800 Pinterest Go Down Red Roses' to find it.**

 **Thanks to** ** _Laure SaintYves_** **and** ** _alix33_** **for finding typos and bloopers!**

 **Suggestions for the title of chapter 3 were:**

 **"I'll Have the Red" by** ** _YepItsMe_** **,**

 **"Assault and Báthory" by a guest,**

 **"Practice, Practice, Practice" or "Revelations" by** ** _Deanna27_** **,**

 **"Science and Depredation" by** ** _Clara84_** **,**

 **"Clutching at straws", "A glimmer of hope" or "A new hope" by** ** _austen16_** **,**

 **"Dawning comprehension" by** ** _nessy22_** **,**

 **"Birds of a feather" by** ** _YepItsMe_** **,**

 **"The science of transformation," or "the science behind the madness" by** ** _lupinsbloggart_** **,**

 **"Darkness before the dawn" by** ** _Ansujali_** **,**

 **"Genesis of a human vampire" or "The vampire apprentice" by** ** _Laure SaintYves_**

 **"The Initiation" by** ** _Dizzy Lizzy.60,_**

 **"The apprentice and his master" by guest.**

 **Again, so many good ones, but I think I'll go with "Assault and Báthory" although I was very tempted by "I'll Have the Red" by** ** _YepItsMe_** **, which hopefully will work for a future chapter.**

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

It was around six months later that Charles Hector Bingley let the estate of Netherfield in Hertfordshire in accordance with his late father's wishes. Charles Ebenezer Bingley had been a noted industrialist, the owner of several textile mills in the North Riding of Yorkshire that he had built from the ground up. It had been Mr Bingley senior's sincerest hope that his only son would become a gentleman.

Charles Junior had been educated at Eton where he endured several thrashings from some of his colleagues who questioned his right to be there. After a fairly undistinguished stint at Oxford, the ever affable Charles joined the London social scene where many doors were open to him, but not all. His eldest sister Louisa, the product of an exclusive ladies seminary in Bath, made a reasonable match with a Mr Hurst, a gentleman of some fashion but little money. But as the company trustees, also executors of his father's will, occasionally reminded Charles, to be truly a gentleman he must have an estate.

After his grand tour and the subsequent excitement of his mad dash across the Mediterranean with Fitzwilliam Darcy as Napoleon marched towards Paris, Charles had been enjoying himself too much in London to think greatly of an estate. Their precipitate journey, which Charles had thought a jolly good adventure, had begun three days after Charles had arrived in Pest. Clued in by subtle hints in Colonel Fitzwilliam's letter of introduction and the knowledge that his cousin would not have left Vienna without good reason, Darcy had suggested they depart Pest immediately for English shores as soon as rumours that Napoleon had escaped Elba reached them.

Several months later, Napoleon's unexpected defeat at Waterloo, London was still buzzing with the excitement and joy of Wellington's victory. Charles was not sure he was suited to a retired country life. But when a beautiful estate in Hertfordshire came up for lease with an option to buy, Charles went to view the place on the advice of his man of business, was much impressed, and thinking that Hertfordshire was not too far from London, promptly took it.

On arriving back in town, Charles was greatly dismayed to hear that Darcy—whose friendship he had managed to retain upon their return to English shores—had been killed in a duel. After this bombshell was lobbed at him while he was engaged in a game of billiards at his club, Boodle's, Charles promptly dropped his cue in alarm and hastened to Grosvenor Square.

After stammering out the reason for his visit to Darcy's head footman, Charles was admitted to the vestibule of Darcy House and thence to his friend's bedside, where he found the news of Darcy's passing to be greatly exaggerated. His friend was sitting up in bed with his left arm in a sling.

Little did Charles know, it had been a very different story fifteen hours ago. Indeed the situation had been so dire when Darcy had been carried insensible into the townhouse yesterday, that the doctor who had dug the ball from his chest an hour later had only shook his head sadly at Darcy's uncle, the Earl of Matlock, on departing. The ball had pierced Darcy's lung and stomach, almost certainly a mortal wound and a painful lingering death.

Darcy had woken the following morning with a ravaging thirst to find himself attended by his housekeeper Mrs Flowers, who was quietly sobbing into her handkerchief. Hoarsely, Darcy asked for water whereupon Mrs Flowers almost had an apoplexy, but quickly recruited herself to offer him the requested drink. At that moment, his valet, who had fallen asleep fully dressed in a cot in Darcy's dressing room after watching over his master most of the night, bounded into the bedchamber and offered to take the cup from Mrs Flowers so that she might refill the jug.

As soon as the housekeeper left the room, Finn produced a hip flask from his waistcoat and begged Darcy to drink. The instant the stopper was removed, Darcy knew it was blood. He was too ravenous to ask his valet questions. He drank it down greedily.

Finn watched anxiously lest Darcy need help holding the flask. Once it was drained, Darcy's arm fell back nervelessly to the sheet as the euphoria nullified the pain. The sound of Mrs Flowers ascending the stairs caused Finn to prise the empty flask from his master's fingers, but the housekeeper was in time to see the flask disappear into Finn's waistcoat as she entered the room. She pursed her lips and determined to have words with Mr Finn about his behaviour later. Despite his volunteering to sit up with the master all night, It had not escaped Mrs Flowers' notice that Mr Darcy's valet had disappeared for over two hours yesterday during the confusion after the doctor had entered the house. Trust an Irishman to resort to drink when he was most needed!

Darcy drank some of the offered water and then requested food, a little less hoarsely. Almost overcome with relief, Mrs Flowers tottered off to the kitchens where the French chef had been optimistically preparing a clear broth in anticipation of this happy but unexpected outcome.

As soon as the housekeeper left the room, Finn bent over his master to whisper, "Was it enough, sir? It was all I could procure quickly yesterday, but the surgeon promised he could supply more by today."

Darcy's lips did not have the energy to form the questions that jostled in his head—how long his valet had known of his condition; where he had found a nefarious surgeon who traded in blood—they were guided by a more primal need. "Need more," he croaked.

Finn immediately shrugged out of his tailcoat and rolled up his left sleeve, offering his arm to Darcy.

Again, several pertinent questions jostled in Darcy's mind, begging to be asked, but the word that issued from his mouth was, "Watch."

Astonishingly Finn was able to correctly interpret this ambiguous utterance, handing Darcy the unusual watch with a second hand that had been gifted to his master in Pest by the eccentric Count Báthory, which the surgeon had discarded to the bedside table.

Darcy accepted the pocket watch in his right hand, exchanged a deep and meaningful glance with his valet, filled with gratitude, trust, even love. Then he sank his fangs into the vein of his valet's outstretched arm.

Five hours later, after several pints of blood had been smuggled into the house masquerading as port, Darcy was reviving in leaps and bounds. He was well enough to sit up in bed while Finn hastily arranged a makeshift sling around his master's shoulder as Mr Bingley waited in the vestibule.

Seeking to downplay Darcy's injury and thus the nature of the contretemps that led to it, Finn had swiftly concocted the story that the pistol shot had entered a less vital spot of Darcy's anatomy—specifically, his shoulder. Darcy could only be grateful for his valet's invention. Subterfuge had never figured in Darcy's character, which made his recent extraordinary double life all the more onerous.

On being admitted to Darcy's bedchamber, babbling and more than a little embarrassed, Charles tried to pass off his visit as a social one; told Darcy of Netherfield, and promptly invited him to visit while he was recuperating. Although rusticating in Hertfordshire was definitely not to Darcy's taste, he knew his startling recovery meant he was going to have to avoid meeting with his doctor for several months; might even need to regretfully dismiss him from the family's service. He accepted Charles's offer immediately.

As soon as Bingley left, Darcy attempted to get out of bed. His eyes darted to the door. Finn swiftly locked it, reminding Darcy gently to remember his wounds and move cautiously. Indeed, Finn was worried that the blood seem to act on Darcy in the manner of opium, causing euphoria and numbing of pain. Darcy pulled his nightshirt off and they both stared at his midriff. The wound was closed over with fresh pink tissue. Unbeknownst to Darcy, Finn staggered a little. After prodding the new skin tentatively, Darcy drew the shirt on once more, inside out in his haste. He was already thinking of the next problem.

"Where is Georgie?"

"She is at Matlock House, sir. Lady Matlock wants to take her to her house in Hampstead, but she is refusing to go."

"I need to speak to my aunt and uncle."

"Very good, sir. I'll send a footman to Matlock House."

"Contrive to message them without alerting Georgie."

Half an hour later, after hurrying across the square, Lady Cecelia Matlock mounted the stairs to Darcy's bedchamber, fearing the worst. But upon reaching her nephew's bed she found him awake and less grey than when she had seen him last night after the doctor had left.

The sling Darcy had recently sported for Bingley's visit was nowhere to be seen and Darcy was lying on his back, a posture more consistent with the wounds he had received yesterday.

"Oh, Darcy!" said Lady Matlock, stroking her nephew's black curls.

"Do not fear, Aunt. I am young and strong."

"The doctor thought it very bad, Darcy; the chance of infection high."

"I need to talk to you about Georgie, Aunt. The state I found her in with Wickham... Have you spoken to her?"

"Oh, Darcy, that is why I suggested Hampstead. I hate to take her away right now, but I would prefer she is out of London until that scoundrel is caught. It is best she lives secluded till we know one way or the other."

Darcy sighed, his aunt's words having confirmed his worst fears. "I will not have her marry Wickham. If she is with child, another husband must be found quickly."

"Darcy, who would take her in such a state? Ah! To have ruined her prospects at sixteen!"

"I have a friend, Bingley. He is a good man and is eager to marry up."

"Not that Cit, Darcy!"

"Yes, Aunt, it is the best solution. Do you think a member of the Ton will marry her?"

There was a commotion downstairs and then the sound of slippers frantically ascending the steps. Darcy and his aunt exchanged a glance.

"There must be some other way!" hissed Lady Matlock, getting in the last words before the conversation was cut short when Georgie appeared on the threshold.

Miss Darcy's wild eyes darted a reproachful glance at her aunt before she cast herself on her knees at her brother's bedside.

"Oh, Fitzwilliam! I am so sorry! I will never forgive myself!"

"Hush, Georgie, hush. I will pull through."

"I knew I should not have done it! But Mrs Younge said George's family connection would make all right in the end! He would not let me open the door! I had no idea he had a loaded pistol!"

"I know, Georgie. It was stupid of me to have forced the issue by climbing in through the window the way I did. I just did not expect him to be armed."

"Oh, Fitzwilliam!" said Georgie, leaning forward with tears in her eyes. "Please say you forgive me!"

"I do, Georgie."

"Enough self-exculpation, Georgie!" snapped Lady Matlock, fearful this exertion would be the death of her nephew. "You have done quite enough! The best you can do is remove yourself to Hampstead until the situation is under control."

"No! I want to be near Brother!"

Georgie clutched Darcy's right arm, which was lying on top of the sheets. "Please don't make me go away again, Fitzwilliam! You haven't spoken to me since you returned from the Continent! I do not want my own establishment! I did not like Ramsgate! I want to be with you!"

Darcy sank back into the pillows, knowing full well why he had sequestered himself since returning. In a way, he knew his sister was right. He had laid the foundations for the whole debacle—the third disaster. Good Lord! He had even precipitated the second—his transformation—by going off to Pest alone.

"Indeed, I am sorry, Georgie. I will try to be a better brother. But I would worry less if for the moment you went with Aunt to Hampstead."

Georgie's shoulders sagged. "Very well," she replied in a small voice.

* * *

Geoffrey Fitzwilliam, ninth Earl of Matlock, arrived at Darcy's bedside two hours later.

"I am sorry, Nephew. I believe that scoundrel has managed to escape to the Continent aboard a ship named the _Betsy Ann_. I have engaged someone to follow him, but with the confusion in France it is likely he will disappear. I have heard that the French authorities are not cooperating well with Wellington's Army of Occupation."

"Thank you, Uncle. Perhaps it is for the best that he is gone. Let us hope he is wise enough never to set foot in England again. What happened after I was shot? I can only remember reviving a little as they carried me into the house."

"Georgie had enough sense to get you into an hackney cab with the help of Wickham's landlord and some other fellows. Unfortunately some passers-by saw her get out of the carriage with her bloody gown before you were carried into the house. Do not worry. I will put it about that you were injured in a duel rather than a common brawl."

"No! That will raise questions as to why I was duelling. Say instead that I shot myself when toying with a loaded pistol while drunk."

"Darcy! What fool does that? It will impugn your honour!"

"Better my honour than that Georgie's should be in question. Say it happened in Hurst's house, I will get Bingley to corroborate. Has Georgie departed yet for Hampstead?"

"Yes, I managed a few words alone with Cissy. I cannot like your idea of marrying her off to that Cit. I am sure someone else can be found—Lord Farquhar, perhaps."

"I am not marrying her off to an impoverished nobleman of loose morals. Bingley is a good man."

"Well," said Lord Geoffrey in a conciliating tone but definitely not in agreement. "We have a good month to think on it. I am glad to see you looking so well. I really thought the worst last night, but I see the doctor underestimated your resilience. You have good Fitzwilliam blood in you. We are a tough lot!" said the earl, patting his nephew's shoulder. "I was pinked in my shoulder during a duel in my youth. Nothing to do with your aunt. Some other chit. Can't remember her name now. But do not overexert yourself. Bedrest until the wound closes over at the very least."

"I will not overexert myself, Uncle," promised Darcy.

"Good lad. I'll be back tomorrow to check on your progress."

Two hours later, after the servants of the house had retired, Finn and Darcy were sneaking down the stairs to a post-chaise Finn had hired, which was standing across the square. This was the best solution they could think of to evade the next call of Darcy's doctor, scheduled for the following morning. They knew it was necessary to escape the house without alerting the rest of the household. Mrs Flowers would send Darcy straight back to bed if she caught them. They had taken with them only what Finn could carry in two valises, the first smuggled out earlier that evening through the front door as most of the servants were at dinner. Their destination was Bedfordshire where they would stay at an inn some ten miles north of Netherfield before Darcy took up residence with Bingley at Michaelmas.


	5. Dying for a drink

**Ok, I found a better title for this story after stumbling across a poem of Dorothy Hewett's—a famous Australian writer. I've written a new poem using her first couplet, which I'll put at the beginning of chapter one. I don't feel too guilty about plagiarism because DH's first couplet is borrowed from Macbeth anyway :b**

 **I WILL CHANGE THE NAME OF THE STORY AS I POST CHAPTER 6. You have been warned :)**

 **Incidentally, there is a sea shanty of a similar name, most recently recorded by Sting, which probably inspired her poem. I'll put it on the Pinterest board along with a link to DH's poem.**

 **Suggestions for the title of chapter 3 were:**

 **"Dying for a drink" by** ** _Anglocelt_** **,**

 **"Undying" by** ** _Happy Lizzy,_**

 **"The third disaster" by** ** _Laure SaintYves,_**

" **The Phoenix" by** ** _YepItsMe_** **.**

 **Loved your contribution,** ** _Anglocelt_** **. I'm entering it immediately for the next chapter, but "The Phoenix" was so apposite.** ** _YepItsMe_** **is the winner.**

* * *

 **Chapter 5 Dying for a drink**

"Squire Bennet! Ladies!" greeted Sir William Lucas as the Bennets entered the Assembly room.

Mr Bennet gave Sir William a curt but friendly nod and headed off to the card room. The squire of Longbourn could see that Sir William was bursting with gossip and wanted no part of it. It had been a very long mile from Longbourn to Meryton, being trapped in the carriage with his wife's effusions as she plotted the marriage of Jane, the eldest of their five daughters to the newcomer Mr Bingley with his 'five thousand a year'.

Mrs Bennet on the other hand was all ears for Sir William's news.

"I have heard..." said Sir William confidentially, "that Mr Bingley has been joined by a large party from London, including a Mr Darcy, worth ten thousand a year!"

Mrs Bennet clapped her hands with delight. "Do you hear that, Jane? Perhaps Mr Darcy would better suit you! Lizzy may have Mr Bingley," she said, referring to her second eldest.

Elizabeth, or Lizzy as she was known to her friends, rolled her eyes at suddenly finding herself the focus of her mother's matrimonial schemes for a gentleman she had not yet even met and who was known to her only by the reputation of his fortune. Her expression only earned her a reproof from her mother for her ungratefulness.

"I shall have Mr Bingley, Mama," declared fifteen-year old Lydia, "for though I am the youngest, I am the tallest!"

Mrs Bennet smiled approvingly at her youngest's appropriately mercenary attitude.

"I can also...", said Sir William, leaning closer but not lowering his voice, "provide a little more information about Mr Darcy, which I was privy to during my most recent visit to St. James' Court—he was not long ago injured quite grievously in a duel!"

"Ooh!" said Lydia, now veritably bouncing with excitement.

"Who knows," continued Sir William, gratified with the response of his audience; "perhaps over some 'affair of the heart'?"

"He sounds very dashing!" gushed Kitty, who despite being one year older than Lydia, was very much in her taller and more vibrant sister's shadow.

"Duelling is against the law," added Mary, the middle sister, "and is to be highly deplored."

"Indeed," briefly frowned Sir William, who as former mayor thought that he aught to condone law and order, "but it does not give an unfavourable impression of his heart!"

At this moment Elizabeth spotted Sir William's daughter Charlotte emerging from the kitchens where she had no doubt been overseeing the preparations for supper. At twenty-nine, Charlotte frequently acted as hostess for the functions Sir William organised—for though her father was not a widower, her mother, who had led a life of indolence since her husband was knighted, was plagued by lethargy.

Elizabeth moved to meet her friend. Although nine years separated them, Elizabeth had gravitated toward Charlotte since she had first come out almost five years ago at the age of sixteen, attracted by the frank and sensible opinions of Charlotte's more mature mind. Despite having a silly father, all too caught up in the whims and gossip of society now that he had retired from trade, Charlotte had the benefit of several successful brothers pursuing careers in London, who wrote often and visited frequently.

"Well, Lizzy!" said Charlotte. "Have you heard that Mr Bingley is joined by his friend Mr Darcy?"

"Not you too, Charlotte!" complained Lizzy, who was already sick of Mr Darcy. "Does this man just have to walk into a room and breathe to be noticed? I am sure he will be very ugly or stupid!"

Charlotte laughed. "You must forgive us. The war and London have deprived us of the company of so many young men. Aside from the baker's and butcher's sons, who are not at all eligible, young dance partners are in short supply. But it would be a wonderful thing if Mr Darcy fell in love with you, would it not?"

Lizzy pursed her lips and shook her head at her friend. "Charlotte, you have been reading too many novels from the circulating library."

The band then struck up the first dance and both Charlotte and Lizzy were claimed as partners by older gentlemen whose wives sat against the wall gossiping.

The first two sets had just finished when a slight commotion near the door heralded the late arrival of the Netherfield party. A hush and a frisson of excitement swept around the assembly hall. Sir William, who had never relinquished the mantle of Master of Ceremonies since his time as mayor, bustled up to greet the distinguished newcomers.

Lizzy and Charlotte, who stood against the wall sipping punch, watched as Sir William's attentions were directed first at a tall, slight young man with sandy hair and a pleasant aspect.

"That is Mr Bingley," said Charlotte, who had already been introduced to the newcomer thanks to his returning a call paid at Netherfield by her father. "He is quite good looking, is he not? And perfectly charming."

Sir William was introduced by Mr Bingley to another man, who looked older, around thirty, slightly shorter than Mr Bingley but more rotund. He was fashionably dressed in an ostentatious waistcoat and had a slightly florid countenance.

 _If that is the illustrious Mr Darcy_ , thought Lizzy, _then I am gravely disappointed._

As Charlotte and Lizzy watched, the florid gentleman's arm was claimed by a lady dressed in silk, wearing a turban with an amazing ostrich feather that brushed the gentleman's slightly balding pate.

"Ah!" whispered Charlotte. "that must be Mr Bingley's brother-in-law and his wife, Mr and Mrs Hurst."

Another lady, bearing some resemblance in dress and features to Mrs Hurst was then introduced to Sir William.

"That must be Mr Bingley's unmarried sister, Caroline," said Charlotte, admiring her gown. "She is very beautiful."

"And she knows it," replied Lizzy as she watched Miss Bingley survey the company with a disdainful air.

All four of the newcomers then turned to look behind them and parted like the Red Sea for a third gentleman. By comparison, Lizzy determined he was only slightly taller than Mr Bingley, which was very curious because her first impression was that he was much taller. She supposed this effect was due to his imposing physique and the fact that he was dressed entirely in black. His square-jawed head with its manicured sideburns sat atop wide shoulders, his shock of black wavy hair managing to look wild and perfectly pomaded at the same time. His long slim legs, not shod with dancing slippers but encased in gleaming black hessians, seemed to announce he had no intention of dancing. He bowed slightly to Sir William. There was no question in either lady's mind that this must be Mr Darcy.

 _No doubt_ , thought Lizzy sardonically, _he intends to spend his time in the card room or leaning against the wall, brooding._

"What do you think, Lizzy?" asked Charlotte.

"Very Byronic."

"My father is hoping Mr Darcy will stay long in Hertfordshire while the scandal of the duel dies down."

"For a person who was grievously wounded, he looks remarkably hale," observed Lizzy.

"Oh, Lizzy, you do know how my father loves to exaggerate! Ten to one he was not involved in a duel at all!"

When the band struck up for the third set, Lizzy and Charlotte were once more claimed by older married men. Lizzy was gratified to see that Mr Bingley, having been introduced to Mrs Bennet, had then claimed the hand of Jane in the dance. As the couples took their places, she was also pleasantly surprised to see that Mr Darcy had not leaned against the wall but partnered with Miss Bingley, despite his hessians. He was far away from her, at least ten in the formation, but she did not despair that he might progress to her during the dance, and if he did not, he would at least get closer, allowing her to better observe him.

The music started, and in-between polite glances at her current partner and the occasional smile at Charlotte who started almost directly opposite her in the improper formation and progressed across her, Elizabeth was able to steal several glances in Mr Darcy's direction. He danced well; had obviously been taught by the best masters; quite put Mr Bingley in the shade. As he turned and bowed, his movements revealed what his ink-black clothes had disguised—his muscular upper thighs. Elizabeth thought he would look good astride a horse, very good. As he got closer, Elizabeth was able to see that his hooded eyes were dark, like his hair, and fringed with beautiful long lashes. Her heart beat a little faster, knowing he was drawing near her, and would partner her next. They turned and progressed.

He bowed, she curtseyed, and his black-gloved hand reached for her similarly clad white one. His eyes widened. Their hands touched and they swapped places in the 'hey'. When she looked up again, Lizzy saw Mr Darcy was glaring at her most ferociously, his nostrils flared. A thrill lanced through her core, whether from fright or excitement, she was not sure. She stumbled slightly but covered it well by quickly resuming her steps. Her heart was beating so loudly she could hear it in her ears. She performed the next steps flawlessly, but dared not meet his eye again. He progressed.

Elizabeth paired with two more partners before the musical flourish that declared the end of the set, but they could not hold her attention. She performed the steps as if she was in a trance. She did not look after Mr Darcy or at anyone around her. When her partner bowed and let go her hand, Elizabeth realised it was shaking. Glancing up the line, her eyes found Charlotte's and she tottered towards her. The shaking had transferred to her legs and was getting worse.

"Are you all right, Lizzy? You look a little pale," said Charlotte.

"I feel a little faint, Charlotte. Perhaps we ought to sit down."

"Whatever is the matter?" asked Charlotte, leaning closer and whispering. "It's not that time of the month, is it?"

Lizzy shook her head.

Once they were seated against the wall and could converse more easily, Lizzy composed herself and found her voice.

"Mr Darcy glared at me so, Charlotte. His look was quite ferocious."

"Did you step on his toe?"

"No!"

"Probably someone else did and he thought it was you. Do not waste another moment's thought upon it. Let me get you some punch."

After Charlotte went off, Lizzy tried to stop the shaking in her legs by pushing her slippers against the floor but only succeeded in making her knees bounce up and down. Charlotte returned with two glasses of punch. Lizzy gulped hers and then regretted it, wishing she could continue sipping the punch slowly, just so she could keep her hands busy.

"Would you like this one as well?" asked Charlotte, offering her cup, which she had not yet put her lips to.

With a sheepish grin, Lizzy accepted the cup gratefully and began to sip it more slowly. The music struck up for the fourth set.

Lizzy watched with pleasure as Mr Bingley requested a second dance with Jane. At the end of the third set, several of the older gentleman had retired to the card room, either from exhaustion or a sense that they had fulfilled their duty in standing in for absent single men. Among them had gone Mr Hurst. Accordingly Mr Darcy solicited Mrs Hurst's hand for the next set. Lizzy began to see a pattern—he would ask only the ladies of his own party to stand up, dancing with the local ladies only in the progression.

As they were already sitting down, Charlotte and Lizzy found themselves without partners in the depleted ballroom and resigned themselves to sitting against the wall for the next set. This did not entirely displease Lizzy because she had not yet fully recovered. Moreover it allowed her to indulge in one of her favourite pastimes, watching other people unobserved. Charlotte began a stream of inconsequential chatter, which Lizzy listened to as a type of commentary, but only replied with appropriate monosyllables.

Jane and Bingley were without doubt the handsomest couple in the ballroom—they were well matched in appearance, and if Mr Bingley was not the best dancer Lizzy had ever encountered, it did not matter, for Jane had tempered her own graceful steps to match his. The most superior dancers were undoubtedly Mr Darcy and Mrs Hurst. Now that she could devote her full attention to him, Lizzy saw that nothing could be wanting in his steps, which were light and pleasing without being overly fussy. He moved with the grace of a sportsman. Mrs Hurst danced well, but she exaggerated her movements, as if she knew many eyes were upon them. But Mr Darcy and Mrs Hurst were ill-matched in height and could not rival the symmetry of Jane and Mr Bingley's movements.

The couples progressed and it was with a slight pang of envy that Elizabeth saw Jane pass to Mr Darcy. Now Jane and Mr Darcy were by far the most superior couple in the room, Jane seamlessly changing her steps to match the very graceful form of her partner. Elizabeth stole a glance at her mother, sitting beside Lady Lucas on the opposite side of the room and immediately knew her to be boasting of Jane to Charlotte's mother. Embarrassed, Lizzy turned her attention elsewhere.

When the set finished, Mr Bingley sought Jane and accompanied her to the punchbowl. When the fifth set struck up, he did not seek to dance at all.

Here was something great, indeed! Knowing that to ask Jane for a third consecutive set would be impolite because it would deprive other men in the room of a chance to dance with her, Mr Bingley had chosen not to dance at all!

In fact, Bingley was half-expecting Darcy to lay claim to the lady he considered the most beautiful in the ballroom and was very gratified when he did not. When the dancers began the fifth set, Bingley was almost congratulating himself that he would have Jane all to himself anyway when Mr Featherstone, a local cabinetmaker, claimed her belatedly. With an appearance of good nature, Mr Bingley surrendered his companion and received her punch glass, drinking what remained in it when he thought no one was looking.

Elizabeth then expected Mr Darcy to make a late bid for Miss Bingley's hand, dancing with her for a second time. Instead he retired to pace against the wall on the opposite side of the room from Charlotte and Elizabeth but not far from Mrs Bennet. It was Sir William Lucas who solicited Miss Bingley as a partner, much to that lady's annoyance. Mr Bingley, having decided to sit the set out in Jane's honour before claiming her again for the sixth, then chose to spend his time harassing his friend, who had no good reason to be idle.

"Come, Darcy," he declared as he came up to him, before lowering his voice to scold him. "Why are you pacing here stupidly when so many beautiful ladies are sitting against the wall?"

"You were dancing with the only beautiful lady in the room and she is now occupied," Darcy coolly replied.

"Indeed! And why did you let that oafish fellow steal her out from under your nose?" challenged Bingley. "But here," he said, scanning the room and spying Elizabeth. "I see her sister is not occupied. I believe Jane said her name is Elizabeth. I saw you dance with her in the progression."

Darcy, who had partnered two Bennet sisters in the progression, glanced to see which one his friend meant. Elizabeth, who had been watching the pair intently and trying to guess the subject of their conversation, became immediately aware its topic was herself when their eyes met. She blushed intensely. Mr Darcy quickly turned his back on her.

"She is tolerable," Darcy whispered, "but not handsome enough to tempt me."

Bingley gave a nervous laugh. "Not handsome enough to _tempt_ you?" he repeated, a little too loudly for Darcy's comfort. "Darcy, you do say the most bizarre things sometimes!"

Lydia, who had also not been claimed as a partner in the latest set and who had been sidling up to the pair so that she might overhear their conversation, now made a loud exclamation, clapped her hand across her mouth and ran as directly as the dancers would permit across the ballroom to Elizabeth.

"You'll never guess what Mr Darcy just said of you, Lizzy!" she said, triumphantly coming up to her.

"That I stood on his toe! Which I did not!" retorted Lizzy, hoping to deflate her sister.

"No!" said Lydia. "He said you were not handsome enough to tempt him!"

And before Charlotte could stop her, Lydia ran off to tell Kitty and anyone else who would listen to her.

Lizzy blushed in deep mortification. "You can now sweep up the ashes of our romance, Charlotte," she said stolidly.

"Oh, well," said Charlotte, clasping her friend's hand and regretting she had said anything on the topic at all. "It was good while it lasted in my imagination—all forty minutes of it."

Mr Darcy continued to lurk on the periphery of the ballroom, chatting in a desultory fashion with Bingley. When the set broke up, Mr Bingley immediately launched himself toward Jane before anyone else could claim her. Darcy took the opportunity of the general movement to absent himself from the ballroom, telling Miss Bingley who was walking towards him that he was for the card room.

Miss Bingley, who had hoped Darcy might ask her to dance again, declared she would accompany him. Mr Darcy immediately changed his mind. He turned on his heel and instead headed for the entrance, saying he fancied he would have a drink at the Red Lion. Miss Bingley hurried after him, catching him at the portico.

"Mr Darcy, the assembly finishes at midnight. Shall you wait upon us here or should I send my brother to fetch you?"

"Do not wait for me," advised Darcy. "I will hire a horse to make my own way home."

Stepping out into the light of the full moon, Mr Darcy took several lungfuls of the clean night air and unclenched his jaw in blessed relief. He walked quickly towards the Red Lion, but after checking that Miss Bingley had returned to the ballroom, he continued past the light that shone from the ale house's open doorway and disappeared into the shadows beyond. Despite the moon, it was difficult to see a man wearing black.

Breaking into a run, Darcy ran all the way back to Netherfield, a distance of two miles as the crow flies. But the actual route he followed was more circumlocuitous. It involved many detours and he only arrived home just before dawn, long after the Bingleys were fast asleep.


	6. Toil and trouble

**OK, from now on I will be trying to footnote words that are not in the Oxford dictionary. I was originally explaining these on the Pinterest boards but not everyone seems to look at those.**

 **If you find a word you that's not in the dictionary, which I've neglected to footnote, let me know.**

 **Suggestions for the title of chapter 5 were:**

 **"Dying for a drink" or "Adding insult to injury" by** ** _Anglocelt_** **,**

 **"Shaken" or "Shaken (up) expectations" by** ** _Ansujali_** **,**

 **"Fascination" by** ** _Laura SaintYves_** **,**

 **"Bite or Flight" by** ** _YepItsMe_** **,**

 **"Running Scared" by** ** _Deanna27_** **,**

 **"Weak in the Knees" or "At First Glance" by** ** _Chica de los ojas café,_**

 **"A Magnetic Field" by** ** _Clara84_** **,**

 **"Red flag" by** ** _nessy22_** **,**

 **"All shook up" or "In a flutter" by** ** _austen16_** **,**

 **I think I'll go for "Dying for a drink,"** ** _Anglocelt_** **!**

* * *

 **Chapter 6 Toil and Trouble**

Darcy's turmoil after he left the Assembly was great and was not lessened by running or sating his thirst. He took twice as much blood as he typically imbibed with no lessening of his ravenous thoughts towards Miss Elizabeth Bennet. In the first hour following his departure, he even had wild imaginings of running back to the Assembly; following her carriage home. When time thwarted those plans he briefly contemplated finding Longbourn by the roads, for he knew it was about one mile south-west of Meryton. But he also knew that none of these actions were acceptable. He must not go anywhere near her. So Darcy fed and skulked around in the darkness, thinking that activity must be better than sitting in the study by the fire, trying to read a book while instead thinking of Elizabeth Bennet—her lips, her neck.

Towards dawn Darcy became less frantic. He knew he no longer had sufficient time to get to Longbourn and back. The skies were clear. He would have to take refuge from the light in some miserable shed. He began to try to understand his situation. What was it about her that was so electric? For Darcy had seen demonstrations of Galvani's and Volta's experiments at the Royal Society, had felt the tiny buzz and jolts produced and could recall nothing in his existence so apposite to describe the feeling of suddenly finding himself in the presence of Elizabeth Bennet. After their encounter he had stolen glances at her as she talked with her friend Charlotte Lucas. She was just a dab* of a girl—pretty, but not outstandingly beautiful—and he had not so much as talked to her. In the end Darcy could only conclude there was something enticing about her blood and it terrified him.

Despite being initiated into the count's habits, after their parting, Darcy had not pursued any liaisons in the demi-monde, a place he had only ventured with his more experienced cousin Richard. Nor had he touched a lady to sate his thirst. His upbringing made the very thought repugnant. These confused thoughts of attraction and thirst toward's a gentleman's daughter were new to him. He had set up his keepers in the rookeries of St Giles and St Clements.

Darcy slept fitfully; dreamed of encountering Miss Elizabeth again in the deserted assembly room. They danced slowly. He took off his glove and dropped it to the floor then reached for her hand and peeled her glove off slowly. He examined her plump flesh, soft skin, every vein before finally exposing her fingertips and touching her. He felt the jolt again, but rather than flinching, he drew her slowly towards him, sighing as her body pressed against his. She clung to his neck as he picked her up. He walked through the door of the card room to find himself in an exotic bedchamber that looked like it might belong to a sultan. He woke.

Finn had drawn the curtains as he was wont to do at dawn. Darcy could tell it was a bright sunny day despite the heavy brocade. He was stuck inside for the day. He found his valet in his dressing room, sighing over what he termed Darcy's 'ruined boots'.

"They have but a few scratches and are a little damp," said Darcy snappishly. "I am sure they will be fine for everyday wear once they dry."

Finn looked up in surprise. Darcy was rarely short with him. "Yes, sir. I'll do my best with them. But may I order a new pair from Hoby, for good?"

"I won't be attending any further social events so there will be no need for them."

This surprised Finn. Not last week, Darcy had planned to attend all evening social events with the Bingleys, to staunch the rumours surrounding his recent injury. Without daring to ask the reason for the sudden change, Finn assisted Darcy into the clothes he had laid out. Normally he made light conversation during this process but seeing the master was not in a mood to be plagued, Finn held his tongue.

Darcy was feeling bad for having snapped at his valet. They were rarely at outs and once he noticed Finn's silence, he began to think he had offended his man. As the minutes ticked by he became increasingly conscious of it and remorseful. Finally his valet eased his well-fitted tailcoat onto his shoulders.

"Will I bring breakfast to the study as normal, sir?"

"Yes please, Finn. And if you must order a new pair of boots, then do so."

Finn relaxed visibly. "Thank you, sir."

"Are the Bingleys awake?"

"Not yet, sir."

Darcy gave a thankful nod. He hated creeping around the house to avoid Miss Bingley who was an assiduous hostess. It was so uncomfortable visiting other people. He had never liked it even before his change. Still, it was a great improvement on the inn where he had put up for the first three weeks after fleeing London. In a way the Bingleys were the perfect hosts for Darcy, because they were of the count's 'unpalatable' group. Darcy had known it from the moment he had first met Charles in Pest. But when Darcy finally met Charles' sisters in London, they were exactly the same, as was Hurst. Darcy had estimated that only one in five potential donors were unpalatable and here they were, a whole family of them. They were safe from him. He would have to be starving to seek their blood.

Darcy opened his bedchamber door. The upper rooms were silent. Only the distant sounds of the servants' activity downstairs greeted his ears. He moved stealthily nonetheless. He had encountered a footman when he came in at dawn. This had not overly concerned Darcy, because he knew the footman would not think it so remarkable—plenty of blades caroused into the early hours of the morning—but they did not typically get up to seek their studies a few hours later. That was one of the consequences of the transformation. Darcy generally now only needed three to four hours of sleep every day, which he typically took in the morning.

He let himself into the study with his key and stopped short. There was a sheep standing on the Persian carpet. Darcy was only momentarily taken aback. He locked the door and advanced towards it. It was surrounded by droppings; its muzzle bandaged shut. Ceramic cupping jars were arrayed on a side table—all, no doubt, arranged by Finn. Darcy considered for a moment. He did not know how cooperative the animal would be and he did not wish to distress his valet whose sensibilities were extraordinary. Reasoning the kitchens would not be expecting his order for breakfast—Darcy decided he had some time.

He arranged a chair and dragged the animal backwards towards him, in the manner of shearers, arranging it between his legs. The sheep made some muffled bleats and then rested on its back calmly like a baby. As he found the artery, it gave one more muffled bleat as the cannula entered and then the blood flowed freely. Once the cup was filled he stopped the flow with the fingers of his left hand and looked at the brimming cup distastefully. He sniffed it and took a sip. It was foul. He spat the blood back in the cup and then spat twice more to rid his mouth of the worst of the taste. After holding the sheep's leg for several minutes, he bandaged the wound. He jumped when there was a soft knock on the door.

Darcy released the animal to walk to the door. After ascertaining it was Finn alone, he let his valet in. No sooner had Finn set the tray down than Darcy poured himself a cup of milk and rinsed his mouth into the saucer. The back of his throat tickled.

"No good, sir?" asked Finn sympathetically.

"No," replied Darcy.

"Do you require the animal any longer, sir?"

"No, let it go. Or have it cooked for dinner. Whatever."

Finn pushed the sheep out the French doors to the terrace, being careful to ensure the arras he had installed shielded most of the exterior light. After closing the doors, Finn rolled the bandage that had tied the sheep's muzzle around his fingers and then dusted his hands together fastidiously. A bleat was heard outside as the sheep tested its voice.

"How did you get it in here?" asked Darcy curiously.

"I had some help, sir. I told the shepherd that Miss Bingley wanted it for her drawing."

Even in the dim light Darcy could see Finn was smiling.

Darcy grinned back. "You take a risk. What if the shepherd should chat to a footman and it comes back to Miss Bingley's ears?"

"What would Miss Bingley be doing conversing with a footman?" retorted Finn.

"Touché," said Darcy. Miss Bingley only gave orders to footmen.

Darcy concentrated on his ham, eggs and toast as Finn produced a dustpan from somewhere and proceeded to tidy the droppings. Only the first few mouthfuls were tainted by the taste of the sheep's blood. Darcy had supplemented his human blood intake in London with that of various animals. The local butchers thought Finn's master to be an aficionado of blood pudding. Darcy had told Finn he had wanted it for his experiments, which had been true enough—but those experiments involved himself, not any of the limbecks and flasks he had collected in his study to mask his true purpose. The animal blood had initially met a need but was even less appetising than unpalatable human blood. But as the months since his transformation went by, Darcy became less able to tolerate it.

Now that he was in the country, he had thought it worth determining if the freshness of the blood made a difference. The tickling in his throat showed it had not. Nor could he eat his steaks bloody any longer—they had the same effect. His fangs were getting longer. They were hollow and it seemed the blood was being ingested more directly now as the count had said it would. Thank God his teeth retracted, otherwise he might have been forced to file them down.

When Finn poured him some coffee, Darcy got up from the Pembroke table and went to sit by the fire. He sighed. That feeling of hopelessness threaten to overwhelm him again. Only attendance of the Royal Society meetings managed to convince him that he was not a bane upon society. He had learnt as much about blood and vitalism as he could. They were not topics that had hitherto interested him because of the relatively primitive state of their enquiry compared to the physical sciences and chemistry—it seemed little better than alchemy. The closest Darcy had previously got to the study of life was fossils. Still, he had found a few scholars pursuing studies that might be of relevance and acted as a patron to their research. He felt he ought to do more, perhaps set up his own laboratory in earnest rather than as a cover for his other weird activities.

His first few months back in England had been fully occupied establishing his altered existence and catching up on the business that had been neglected during his sojourn on the Continent. He had sent a note to the count telling of his arrival in London. As much as Darcy resented what the count had done to him, he knew that he was dependent on the count's superior knowledge to navigate his altered state successfully.

He had then immediately set about acquiring his own pigeons and several handlers so communication could be bi-directional. The birds needed to be trained to fly to the count's relay station in Nuremberg. The count had explained that the two-stage journey enabled individual birds to rest and reduced their loss in transit, but Darcy immediately realised that by using his own birds on the second stage, the count effectively hid his location. Perhaps he did not yet fully trust Darcy—with good reason. Within a matter of six months the first of Darcy's chicks were grown, had been shipped overseas and were successfully returning from Nuremberg, reducing his reliance on tedious land communication into England, which was particularly fraught before Waterloo. Darcy could clearly see that his wealth had been one factor in the count's choosing him. More of the count's birds had arrived in a shipment. A dovecote was built in the garden of the Darcy townhouse in Mayfair. Mrs Flowers was disappointed to the squabs were not for the kitchen.

During Darcy's musings, Finn had removed the breakfast tray, leaving the coffeepot on the hob in the fireplace. He returned to the study with a salver on which lay a letter from Lady Matlock. Darcy reached for it with trembling hands; broke the seal of his aunt's letter... and groaned—still no certainty.

His aunt informed him that she could provide no relief for his mind. She could not rule out that Georgie was with child but Georgie's maid informed her that her mistress was irregular, not having started her courses long ago. There were no other symptoms, her fingers were crossed.

Darcy screwed up the paper and threw it into the fire. His thoughts immediately focussed on Bingley and his over-partial behaviour to the eldest Miss Bennet last night at the assembly. Darcy had not yet apprised Bingley of his matrimonial plans for him. He had been fairly sure that his friend would be all compliance, but he did not want to raise his hopes in the event that Georgie's situation amounted to nothing. He had never seen Bingley be so particular before. Jane Bennet threatened to upset all Darcy's careful plans.

But thoughts of one sister led to another. Against his will, Elizabeth Bennet once more invaded his mind.

* * *

At Longbourn, Jane and Lizzy had been woken by the morning light despite their late night. They lay together in their four-poster bed discussing their new neighbours. This chiefly involved Jane's happy reflections on the attention shown to her by Mr Bingley. Lizzy's humbling by Mr Darcy had already been gone over at length by Mrs Bennet and Lydia during the carriage ride home last night, ostensibly for Mr Bennet's information.

Lizzy was determined that tomorrow should be a new day. Not a word about Mr Darcy had passed Lizzy's lips in her morning conversation with Jane. She would think of it no more. But she feared it would be raked over again at breakfast—her mother would not forget so great a slight easily. Mrs Bennet had been the beauty of the shire in her day. A slight to any of her daughters, who—she told anyone who would listen—were all most pleasing to look at, was a slight to herself. Still, Lizzy could not banish the pain of her mortification from her mind. It was like a bruise that hurt occasionally when her thoughts touched it.

"...His nobility in standing out for the fifth set was more than I expected," said Jane. "You cannot imagine my gratification when he came immediately to ask me for the sixth and thus showed his purpose so openly."

"Yes, I believe he was truly taken with you."

"So amiable! He is just what a gentleman ought to be! And quite good looking too, if you will not think me shallow for saying so."

Lizzy could not agree. In her opinion, Mr Bingley possessed only the handsomeness of youth with no outstanding features like Mr Darcy's vital physique, strong jaw or beautiful eyes. Too bad he was such a wretch!

"No, I do not think you shallow. Mr Bingley's manners were extremely pleasant, very gentlemanly."

So it continued. Lizzy did her best to partake of Jane's joy in her first love. When the sisters heard their father descending the stairs, they got up to dress themselves and soon followed him. He was sitting at the breakfast table, drinking his coffee and reading his paper when they entered the parlour.

Mr Bennet soon was giving his daughters his customary distillation of the morning news, replete with his opinions on events, when Mrs Bennet entered, surprisingly early considering her usual habits after evening functions. But it soon became apparent she had exerted herself to bask in Jane's triumph.

By the time her toast had arrived at the table, Mrs Bennet was angling for the horses to be harnessed for the carriage.

"There are needed on the farm," stated Mr Bennet firmly. "I am sure Mr Bingley can wait one day to see Jane again. No doubt he is still in his bed and in no state to receive visitors today."

Mrs Bennet wailed but her husband proved immovable.

But the squire was wrong about Mr Bingley, for shortly after two, he arrived in his carriage with his sisters to pay his first morning call on the Bennets, returning a call Mr Bennet had made surreptitiously two days ago. The squire had not wished his wife to believe his reluctant compliance with common civility could in any way be attributed to her nagging.

It had been Bingley's original intention to ride to Longbourn with Darcy but when he strode into the study at one, Darcy was once more busily engaged in examining the estate's ledgers. Bingley had not yet twigged to the full limitations of Darcy's extraordinary light sensitivity. Every eccentricity his friend attributed to the 'habits of the Ton': Darcy's sleeping in, his penchant for the dark study, even the coloured glasses he had taken to wearing in the afternoon when the sun struck the study windows directly. Finn had purchased a range of coloured spectacles from Mr Ayscough.

Instead Bingley was forced to wait until his sisters rose and they had gone off together with Hurst in Bingley's carriage.

The Bingleys' visit at Longbourn lasted a mere half-hour, as was proper for a first morning visit. Mr Bingley was loath to part with Jane but Elizabeth could see that his relatives were just as eager to depart—and it was three to one. On entering the parlour, the Bingley sisters had looked about at the furniture disdainfully. Clearly they had expected more of a squire's establishment. As she glided into the room, Caroline's glove even touched a small rip in the upholstery of the settee caused by one of Lydia's high jinks before exchanging a glance with her sister. Mr Hurst withdrew his handkerchief to dust his chair lest his lavender inexpressibles€ be marked but was soon consoled by three slices of the delicious apple tart Hill laid on the table with tea. Mr Bingley seemed blissfully unaware of the rudeness of his relatives, immediately seating himself beside Jane and engaging her almost exclusively in conversation for his entire visit.

When Charlotte Lucas arrived, having walked from Meryton on one of her visits which occurred on any passably fine day, the Bingley sisters got up immediately, saying they must cede their places to the newcomer. Thus was their departure speedily effected. Elizabeth could not be sorry.

As Charlotte was a very frequent visitor to Elizabeth, she was treated as family and speedily ignored, allowing Elizabeth to take her off after Charlotte had partaken of a thin slice of tart.

They arrived in the still room, a favourite haunt of Elizabeth's. She had added more coals under one of her concoctions before the arrival of the Bingleys and had been eager to check on it.

"Hubble bubble, toil and trouble!" recited Elizabeth as she stirred the pot.

"What is it?" asked Charlotte as she viewed the turbid mixture dubiously.

"A new recipe for ginger beer!" laughed Lizzy. "Aunt Gardiner sent it. She says it's the best she has tasted—not too sweet."

"Why do you bother when you can just buy such things nowadays?"

"What would be the fun in that?" retorted Lizzy.

"It looks too much like hard work," huffed Charlotte, settling herself onto a three-legged stool in the corner. "Shall I read aloud while you brew? I finally managed to borrow _The Orphan of the Rhine_ from the circulating library. Your aunt Philips took forever to read it!"

"Yes, please! I intend to bottle the spruce beer I made two weeks ago, but I need you to help me tie on the corks once I'm done."

Thus was a pleasant hour passed away until they were called to a late lunch. Afterwards the corks were duly restrained. The sun was getting low in the sky when Lady Lucas arrived in her carriage to transport Charlotte back to Lucas Lodge. Charlotte typically made the return journey on foot but had expected her mother, who was distributing formal invitations to her soirée on the following Tuesday to greet the militia to Meryton.

Lady Lucas was very gratified to have caught the Bingleys at home on their return to Netherfield and had high hopes that they would grace her parlour along with Mr Darcy next week, for a soirée to welcome the —shire militia to Meryton. But if she had expected to catch a glimpse of Mr Darcy in a domestic setting at Netherfield, she had been disappointed. He was working in the study and never appeared, Caroline assured her, till after sunset.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*dab - I think this means thin but I couldn't find it in an online dictionary and only one ref in Georgette Heyer's Regency Buck.

I found: Dab, street term for small flat fish of any kind. Old.

In an old Brewer's, so it may mean flat-chested.

Can anyone help?

€ inexpressibles - form-fitting knitted trousers worn by dandies similar to modern women's tights. Didn't leave much to the imagination apparently. Also called bum-clingers.


	7. A slight headache

**Thanks** **for the feedback on the word 'dab'. The adjectival form of the word, discussed by _ernacht_** **and _Carol_ , as in 'dab hand' is still used infrequently used in Australia. I haven't heard the noun form, discussed by _Katzenpfote_ and ****_Carol_** **, as in 'dab of a girl' in ages, possibly only in my childhood. I think small or slight is probably correct and fits in with the fish etymology. I just know I wanted to say it when I saw the pictures of Kiera Knightley!**

 **Thanks for finding some typos, _LadyoftheLake23_. I've corrected them in my master copy. It's funny how you miss mistakes when you are proofing. You seem to just read over the top of them, often reading what you intended to write instead of what you have put down. I suppose being fresh in the memory contributes. **

**I've noted your claim to the Chapter 3 title _Missouri Walker_.**

 **Suggestions for the title of chapter 6 were:**

 **"Unpalatable" by _YepItsMe_ ,**

 **"Sheepish Behaviour" for Darcy or "Still Standing" for Lizzy by _Deanna27_ ,**

 **"Bloody study" or "Blood studies" by _Katzenpfote_ ,**

 **"Settling in" by _nessy22_ ,**

 **"A Bitter Taste" by _Chica De Los Ojas Café,_**

 **"Bloodthirsty" by _CillaT_ ,**

 **"Experiments and concoctions" by _austen16_ ,**

 **"Baa Baa Bad Blood" by _LotsofLaundry_ ,**

 **"Discerning Taste," "Ba-ba bad taste," or "Bad Taste in the Mouth" by _sacredwoman2K_ ,**

 **"Blood Quest" by _Dizzy Lizzy.60,_**

 **Bloody taste!" or "The tastes of blood" by _Laure SaintYves_**

 **Oh, so many good ones! Rotfl, _LotsofLaundry_. Commendations also to _Deanna27_ for two great ones. So now I'm going to be really perverse and suggest my own, "Toil and trouble", inspired by your entry, _austen16_ —so you get the gong.**

* * *

 **Chapter 7 A slight headache**

Darcy's original determination to avoid the soirée at Lucas Lodge was shaken by Bingley. During the course of his socialising, Charles was mortified to discover that their conversation at the assembly had been overheard, or more specifically, his recitation of Darcy's comment. This had come through the agency of Mrs Long who laughed that Mrs Bennet's crest has been lowered a trifle by his friend's opinion which, she assured him, was not a bad thing, for the mistress of Longbourn thought all her daughters without equal in the shire.

Charles was distraught; told Mrs Long that he thought Mrs Bennet quite justified in her opinion, then blushed that he might have indirectly insulted Mrs Long's nieces. He stammeringly assured her that every girl whom he had met in Hertfordshire was most pleasing.

The result of it was that Bingley sped home in his carriage with his sisters to immediately invade Netherfield's study to confess the faux pas to Darcy and apologise for his part in it. He found his friend reading a book by the fire.

After a day working through Netherfield's ledgers while his mind pondered two more difficult problems: blood and Elizabeth Bennet, Darcy had just finished writing a short note to the count. It contained his latest musings on unpalatable human blood—he was now sure there were at least two distinct groups. He had been carrying some tiny vials around with him for several days now in order to collect samples to prove his point. The task of finding one more example of the 'other' group had employed him for a good hour on the previous night from the distraction of Elizabeth Bennet; kept him from running to Longbourn as he longed to do. His teeth ached every time he thought of her. After labelling the vials carefully, Darcy had tucked them inside the harness of the pigeon Finn had retrieved from the cage, alongside his note, handing the bird to Finn to release. Darcy had sat down not two minutes before the agitated Bingley knocked on the study door.

If Charles had expected Darcy to be careless of Mrs Bennet's feelings, he was wrong. Darcy regretted that his private words had become public knowledge. The phrasing had been particularly unfortunate, revealing his inner thoughts and exposing his turmoil. He had been taught by his father to be always careful of the feelings of those less privileged than himself. In consequence, and after much heart churning, he agreed to accompany the Bingleys to the Lucas's soirée, lest his absence be interpreted as further disdain for the community.

Caroline was ecstatic. Mr Darcy's avidity for the solitude of Charles' study precluded his accompanying them on their morning visits. He locked himself in and would not accept so much as a cup of tea except by the agency of his valet, who waited on him hand and foot. When Charles revealed that Darcy had expressed a distaste for evening engagements after the assembly, she had been doubly disappointed. In her desperation, she began wearing her best silk gowns to home dinners, so that she might beguile him afterwards over cards.

Caroline had initially deemed the soirée likely to be a poor thing after discovering that Sir William had made his fortune in trade. She had no hopes of the gentility of Lucas Lodge at all—a paltry mansion that did not even rival Longbourn in size. The Bingley sisters had not yet seen inside it—only their brother had entered on his initial visit to Hertfordshire. On two occasions when the sisters visited, they had merely left their cards—Sir William and Lady Lucas were forever gadding about. But upon hearing that Darcy was to accompany them to the soirée, Caroline rejoiced and pulled out all stops. She took extra pains over her toilette, or at least her maid did.

When Mr Darcy handed her into the carriage at Netherfield and out again at Lucas Lodge, Miss Bingley thought his pale skin and patrician nose looked particularly handsome under the waning moon. Caroline was also amazed at the rock solidity of his outstretched arm. She began to plot falling against him if he should hand her out of the carriage at Netherfield on their return home, such was her faith that they would not both end up in the dirt.

But on entering Sir William's home, Miss Bingley was surprised to find Lucas Lodge much to her taste. Louisa and Mr Hurst also nodded their condescending approval as their eyes met Caroline's. Certainly the building was not as grand as Netherfield, which was acknowledged by everyone as the first house in the district, but Lucas Lodge contained more than its fair share of Wedgwood busts and girandoles. Indeed, Miss Bingley had found these items sadly lacking at Netherfield. If Mr Darcy should stay longer with them, Caroline intended to satisfy her notion of good taste by redressing their scarcity.

Darcy however noticed their abundance at Lucas Lodge with distaste. He considered such things only necessary to provide some relief to one's eyes among more practical objects, like books. To stuff them into a room like a museum he thought particularly vulgar.

As Sir William bustled up to welcome the Netherfield party, Darcy's eyes roamed the room for the Bennets. He found Lydia first—for not only was she the tallest, she was also the loudest. The youngest Miss Bennet was surrounded by a circle of redcoats and looked very much in her element despite her youth, for Bingley had told Darcy she was but fifteen. Darcy briefly imagined Georgie cringing in such a situation as his eyes continued their surveillance. He found Miss Elizabeth Bennet at the far end of the room next to Miss Lucas, talking with self-possession to the colonel of the regiment. It seemed the Bennet ladies were quite at ease in social gatherings, even with people new to their acquaintance. Bingley had by the time spotted Jane Bennet, who happened to be in the diametrically opposite corner of the room to Elizabeth and Miss Lucas. When Bingley made a beeline for Miss Bennet, Darcy was happy to initially accompany him.

Darcy's plan for the evening was merely to keep half the room between himself and Miss Elizabeth. He thought it quite likely that he had merely been taken by surprise by Miss Elizabeth at the assembly. There was definitely something insidiously attractive about her, despite her slender form, but he thought his initial, almost overwhelming, reaction would not be repeated now he had the benefit of some mental preparation. Nonetheless, he thought it wise to keep his distance whilst assessing his resilience.

Unfortunately, although Darcy kept his distance admirably, his eyes were frequently focussed on Miss Elizabeth, a fact that did not escape Miss Bingley.

"Does Miss Elizabeth Bennet really deserve so much of your attention, Mr Darcy?" she asked him sweetly as she handed him some wine.

"The dress she is wearing reminds me of one of Georgie's," said Darcy dismissively, annoyed to be found out.

"How I do look forward to finally meeting your sister! The dress is a lovely shade is it not? It is last year's fashion, and the hem a good four inches above the floor shows it. It is just as well Miss Elizabeth has grown up like a beanstalk and not out, otherwise she would be bursting at the seams!—although I believe you gentlemen are not averse to such a spectacle."

Darcy, who would not deign to answer this saucy speech, merely smiled enigmatically and walked off. But Miss Bingley's wit had its effect, for Darcy did not monitor Miss Elizabeth's position so assiduously. Thus when Miss Mary Bennet sat down at the piano to play a reel so that Miss Lucas and the younger Bennets might dance with some of the officers, he was completely taken by surprise when Sir William importuned him to join the dancers and selected Miss Elizabeth, who was just walking by, as his potential partner.

Elizabeth blushed deeply. She was sure Sir William must have heard the tale of Mr Darcy's insult—Mrs Long had ensured everyone in the town had been privy to it. No doubt this was Sir William's clumsy way of making reparation.

"I am sure Mr Darcy does not dance reels, Sir William," said Elizabeth.

Darcy was fascinated by the tone of her voice, which had a musical quality like that of a bird, but his eyes settled on her slender neck, adorned only by a ruby cross suspended from a delicate chain. He imagined touching his lips to her skin, piercing it with his fangs to find the artery. How he wished the crucifix actually had some repellant effect on him! His teeth ached; his jaw tightened.

"I would not be cross... I mean averse, if you are willing," Darcy replied haltingly.

Elizabeth did not know whether to laugh or to cry. She had seen his jaw tighten and been afraid he was about to say something cutting; had steeled herself for another insult. Instead she had been wrong-footed by his haughty lack of composure, which had been surprisingly endearing. But she was sure he was only making a token effort at being polite; would despise her for putting him to the trouble of actually dancing.

"Thank you. I would prefer not to dance tonight. I have a slight headache."

Elizabeth saw the muscle in Mr Darcy's jaw relax. He bowed stiffly and she moved off towards the punchbowl, convinced her surmise had been correct.

Sir William caught her up. "Miss Elizabeth, could I get you a powder? I know Lady Lucas has some."

Elizabeth smiled to herself at Sir William's mode of referring to his wife. How odd to have altered her appellation after almost thirty years of marriage to a plain 'Meg'!

"Thank you, Sir William. It has not reached that stage yet, but I will not hesitate to importune Charlotte should it do so."

Sir William went off, happy in his social graces and solicitude.

Meanwhile, Darcy had frozen on the spot, contemplating the tiny smile that had formed on Miss Elizabeth's lips after his clumsy reply. What had she meant by it?

He jumped when a hand curled round his arm.

"What a lucky escape!" whispered Miss Bingley, close to his ear. "A reel is the most undignified of dances!"

"I cannot be sorry to have evaded another dance," sighed Darcy. "But I fear your brother will think that I should have pressed her in the circumstances. I suppose I could have offered her a glass of punch."

"She has got it herself," observed Miss Bingley. "So you are off the hook! You may hug yourself!"

Darcy could not feel so sanguine. Now that he was at least past his second encounter with Miss Elizabeth, he tried to make up for its clumsiness by socialising, moving from group to group and nodding infrequently at things he agreed with. His mingling could not extend to speech. He made several attempts to part Charles from the eldest Miss Bennet but was forced to retire each time when Miss Elizabeth circulated to their group. Darcy's mind had somehow latched on to her. He became aware that he could track her position in the room without actually looking at her, only occasionally glancing to check if he was right. It was uncanny but it occurred to him that the count had some similar power, had often been aware that someone was about to disturb them before a sound could be heard—one of his so-called preternatural senses. Was he also developing similar powers?

The rest of the soirée was blessedly uneventful. With relief, Darcy wended his way home with the Bingleys. He managed to right Miss Bingley with his fingertips when she stumbled getting out of the carriage, preventing her from falling into him, and bid them all a hasty goodnight.

Reaching his bedchamber, he allowed his valet to quickly change his boots and coat and then promptly climbed out his bedchamber window.


	8. Wanderlust

**Thanks** **for your definitive definition, _Kettle Logic_. I gather you are talking of the twenty volume set of the OED? I could only ever afford the two volume "Shorter Oxford" but I don't have my copy with me. I think the online Oxford must be the "Concise", although it doesn't identify itself as such.**

 **With regard to the retired title, I must admit that I pinched it from one of my other stories; so do not despair, you will likely see it again.**

 **Thanks for flagging girandoles, _alix33_. It's in the oed so hopefully should be in the Kindle dictionary.**

 **Please note that while I have outlines for my stories, I write them as I go, so I can't post any faster than I can write. Keep reviewing, your feedback influences the path the story takes.**

 **Suggestions for the title of chapter 7 were:**

 **"Airmail Lab Work" and "Early GPS" by _LotsofLaundry_ ,**

 **"Walking on eggshells" by _nessy22_ , The translation is correct, nessy22—that's the way we say it in English.**

 **"Not close enough encounters" by _Deanna27_ ,**

 **"A preternatural sense" or "A new power" by _Laure SaintYves_**

 **"Mental Preparation" or "A Night At The Assembly" by** ** _Dizzy Lizzy.60_**

 **"A slight headache" by _Chica de Los Ojas Cafe_.**

 **I think I will go for "A slight headache" by _Chica_ , as it is a nice windup for the next chapter.**

* * *

 **Chapter 8 Wanderlust**

Miss Bingley was bored. She had exhausted the possibilities of morning visits to the few eligible families in the district, determining them all beneath her notice. She had discovered there was not a single shop in Meryton worth entering. Her sister's all too familiar company had paled. How she longed for her town friend Miss Westruther, who was Tonnish but meek and whom Caroline governed shamelessly. She could see that Jane Bennet had possibilities as a substitute but her family did not bear thinking about. The boisterous Miss Lydia was not at all the thing, and Caroline could not like Miss Elizabeth with her sly, captivating ways.

Caroline would have invited Jane to Netherfield but her brother's over-particular behaviour to the eldest Miss Bennet gave her pause—as a country acquaintance, Jane would do nicely, but she could not be contemplated as a sister-in-law. In a rare private moment, Caroline had unburdened her fears for her brother to Mr Darcy and found him remarkably sympathetic. He agreed it would not do to raise Miss Bennet's hopes unnecessarily.

Miss Bingley was at her wits' end. She had almost resorted to picking up a book when an invitation for dinner from the officers of the militia to the gentlemen of the house gave her an idea—with her brother occupied elsewhere, she could safely invite Jane to dine at Netherfield! A note was hastily written and a footman summoned to convey it to Longbourn. Just over an hour later, Caroline had the felicity to receive an acceptance saying that Jane would not be far behind her reply.

Darcy had originally planned to join Bingley and Hurst at the Red Lion after sunset, but the day had proved so dull, the clouds so leaden, that he had thought himself safe to venture outside earlier and likely to get wet if he did so later. At three o'clock, with his eyes closed behind his coloured glasses, Finn had guided him to his curtained carriage and accompanied the party to perform the same office in Meryton. Bingley and Hurst were under the impression that Darcy had one of his 'migraines'. Finn had assured them that his master had taken some laudanum and would likely be right presently if he avoided bright light. Bingley could not but admire the nobility and stoicism of his friend.

An half-hour after the gentleman departed, the heavens opened and an hour after that Jane arrived on horseback, soaked to the skin. Miss Bingley's shock on receiving her friend was great, for she had expected her to arrive in a carriage. When the housekeeper Mrs Nicholls helped Jane remove her soaked redingote Miss Bingley's shock was even greater still, for the thin soaked muslin underneath revealed much of her friend's charms. Caroline could only be glad her brother was not present to view the spectacle.

Miss Bennet was bundled upstairs and one of Louisa's looser fitting gowns was found to accommodate her. Though both Bingley sisters had grown up tall and thin, Louisa had become more plump since her marriage and had now acquired what her husband deemed 'a tolerable figure for a lady'. Miss Bennet, on the other hand, had more than a tolerable figure. With the benefit of her still damp stays, she was finally lashed into the elder Bingley sister's gown.

The rest of the afternoon was whiled away with cards and tea as the rain turned into a downpour. It was quite clear that Miss Bennet could not return on horseback, nor could Miss Bingley offer her brother's carriage as one of the horses was lame, which was the reason the men had taken Mr Darcy's. Jane would have to stay the night. Nonetheless, Miss Bingley was satisfied that she could pack Jane off early in the morning before her brother could rise, for he was sure to have a sore head after his night out.

Caroline resigned herself to Miss Bennet's pleasant company. The cards were soon abandoned for fashion journals and nothing could have been sweeter. Dinner was so enjoyable that Caroline almost believed she could stay longer in the country without much harm. Afterwards the trio entertained each other by singing and playing on the pianoforte.

The morning saw a cessation of the rain but Caroline's plans to send Miss Bennet speedily on her way were put into abeyance by the discovery that her friend was ill, not surprisingly, with a sick cold. This was a sad setback, but Caroline consoled herself with the fact that as Miss Bennet was bedridden, she was unlikely to see her brother and hardly in a condition to charm him.

Jane was too ill to eat but requested a writing slope, so that she might send notice to her family. A short note was penned to Elizabeth, telling her sister of her condition and begging her not to be worried if she heard that the apothecary had been called.

Upon receiving this, Lizzy was distraught. She had deplored her mother's scheme to send Jane to Netherfield on horseback, knowing full well that it would rain. After some ill-considered tempestuous words to her mother, Lizzy repaired to the stillroom to gather supplies—barley water and white willow bark—for she did not trust to Mr Jones's elaborate concoctions, deeming simple things, timely administered, to be the best. She drew on her pelisse and donned her sturdiest walking boots, for there was still much water on the ground. Although Longbourn possessed a second cob that could be ridden, Lizzy was no horsewoman and the carriage could not be drawn by a single horse.

Thus Lizzy set off to Netherfield to provide succour to her beloved sister, much to her mother's disgust, for Mrs Bennet said she would not be worth seeing when she arrived there. After three miles of jumping over stiles and springing over puddles, Elizabeth arrived at Netherfield with dirty stockings and a face glowing with the warmth of exercise.

Darcy who, in view of the dull day, had been coaxed into the dining room for a late breakfast by Charles, was thus present when Lizzy was ushered into the presence of the Bingley sisters in search of her sister. A terrible hush fell over the group. They stared at her so that Elizabeth for once regretted not paying more heed to her mother's words. But Mr Bingley soon jumped up and bowed.

"You must forgive us, Miss Elizabeth, for we have not yet had our breakfast and I know I, for one, am quite stupid until food has passed my mouth."

Elizabeth smiled at Mr Bingley's civility and begged him not to be disturbed, that if a maid could but show her to Jane's room, she had come only to tend to her.

Mrs Nicholls, who had entered the room with the tea, volunteered to do so at once and led Elizabeth off.

No sooner had the door closed behind their visitor than the Bingley sisters began to abuse her. It was 'Did you see her petticoat, Louisa?' and 'Her face so flushed and her hair so blousy, Caroline!' and a torrent of similar exclamations.

Mr Bingley was hot in Miss Elizabeth's defence. "Her solicitude for her sister is laudable," he cried.

This partiality for anything Bennet could not be tolerated and Caroline immediately appealed to Mr Darcy for adjudication, knowing him to be a high stickler for proper form. She found his face frozen, his lips thinned, and immediately concluded he was rightfully disgusted.

But Darcy would not say anything to condemn Miss Elizabeth and instead returned his attention to his plate whence he discovered that he had bent the tines of his silver fork at ninety degrees to the handle by pressing it down onto the table.

"Oh, dear!" exclaimed Caroline, distraught that her guest's sensibilities had been so disturbed and motioning frantically for a footman to replace the offending implement.

Mr Darcy got up soon afterward, taking his teacup and muttering as he left the room that he needed to get back to his ledgers. Caroline glared at her brother as Mr Darcy left, as if his solecism in defending Miss Elizabeth was the cause of his friend's abrupt departure.

The truth was that upon perceiving Miss Elizabeth walk into the room, Darcy had sunk his fangs into his lower lip and had been desperately swallowing the blood coursing from the wounds. He then had to fight the pain as he withdrew his fangs from the inside of his traumatised lips, bending his fork in doing so.

Once Miss Elizabeth had left, he quickly regained command of himself. But upon putting his napkin to his lips he discovered they were bloody. He folded the cloth inward and slipped it into his pocket, thinking all might be well if the Bingleys remained focussed on their petty comments regarding Miss Elizabeth's appearance. But once Caroline solicited his opinion, he knew it would be difficult to hide his injury. He was afraid the wounds would show if he opened his mouth to speak, or that blood might drip onto his snowy cravat. So he picked up his teacup and blithely walked out.

Arriving in the study, Darcy closed the door much harder than was his wont and preceded to pace up and down. Finn, who had taken it upon himself to dust the entire library—for he could not bear that his master be disturbed by a single cough due to Mrs Nicholls' poor housekeeping—was immediately apprised of Darcy's agitation.

"Whatever is the matter, sir?"

"She is here, Finn! she is here!" said Darcy without ceasing his pacing.

"Who, sir?"

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet! Finn, I fear for her safety. There is something about her! I do not know what! But she inspires in me the most unspeakable urges!"

Finn thought he began to understand why Darcy had ruined his hessians roaming the countryside after the assembly, even when he had drunk a pint of the bottled blood beforehand.

"Did you meet her at the assembly, sir?"

"Yes! And I must keep away from her. She is not safe! Though I have not drunk from her, I know that her blood is the opposite of unpalatable!"

"You fear you might drain her?" asked Finn, aghast.

"Yes, or turn her into a vampire! You do not know how difficult it is to withdraw before the minute is up, Finn! And should I ever sink my fangs into her I am afraid it will be impossible!"

Finn agreed that dead or vampiric maidens would not be good for the neighbourhood. He immediately locked both doors.

"It is likely," said Finn upon reflection, "that she will leave an hour before sunset, for her coachman will prefer not to light the lamps."

"She walked Finn."

Finn raised his eyebrows slightly at this. It seemed that Darcy was not the only one who liked roaming the countryside. "Then she will leave by three or thereabouts, even better! Here!" Finn said, retrieving one of the new batch of port bottles that had been delivered from London, "take some as a precaution, sir!"

"You are right, Finn. Thank you," Darcy said, calming himself and sitting down behind the desk. "I will focus on my work."

After setting a glass beside the port bottle for his master, Finn excused himself to monitor the situation. But when he reappeared in Darcy's study at half-past three he did not have good news.

"Is she gone?" asked Darcy.

"No, sir. Unfortunately Miss Bingley has asked her to stay overnight. A carriage has been sent to Longbourn to retrieve her effects."

"What can have possessed Miss Bingley to do that?"

"Apparently, Miss Bennet is poorly and she begged her sister not to leave her."

"Good Lord! I am going to have to sit with her at dinner!"

"Likely, sir, if she is willing to leave her sister's bedside. But I am sure Miss Bingley will seat her as far away from you as possible."

Despite his anxiety, this caused a small smile to form on Darcy's lips, which fortunately had healed completely after the breakfast incident. "Yes, she will, won't she?"

* * *

On dressing for dinner, Darcy found to his great relief that Miss Elizabeth had decided not to join them for dinner—he was over the first hurdle.

But on descending the stairs, he had the misfortune to encounter her ascending with a teapot. She had changed her gown and her throat was thankfully hidden by a high chemisette. Nonetheless he gave her a wide berth as they passed. With her gown gathered in one hand and the teapot in the other, she did not notice him until they were abreast on the landing, whence she paused and glanced at him. Darcy dared not stop close to her. He slid against the wall and only turned to give a stiff bow once he reached the bottom of the stairs before heading off without saying a word.

When Lizzy returned to Jane's bedchamber with the tisane she had brewed for her sister's headache she was fuming.

"Mr Darcy is, without doubt, the rudest man I have ever encountered!" she expostulated after closing the door.

Jane turned a watery eye on her sister and croaked, "What has he done now?"

"He just passed me on the stairs without a civil word and slipped past me, hugging the wall, like I had the plague."

"Oh, Lizzy, perhaps he is shy?"

"Shy men do not pronounce ladies 'not handsome enough to tempt them!'"

Jane stretched out her hand. "Be calm, Lizzy."

"Yes, yes. Calm..., ca-a-alm...," said Lizzy, taking several deep breaths. Closing her eyes briefly, she regained her composure.

She poured a cup of the brew, then helped her sister sit up in bed to drink it. "Would you like me to read to you or would you prefer to sleep?"

"Please read."

"Very well. I saw the Bingleys have a copy of _The Mysteries of Udolpho_ when I took tea earlier with Caroline and Louisa and took the liberty of requesting to borrow it."

"Is that the book that Mrs Long's goat damaged?"

"Yes, it ate the first fifty pages from the circulating library's copy. So we have never read it."

Jane sighed happily despite her headache and sank back into the pillows. Lizzy perched herself on the end of the bed near Jane's feet to lean against the footboard and began:

 _"Fate sits on these dark battlements, and frowns,_

 _And, as the portals open to receive me,_

 _Her voice, in sullen echoes through the courts,_

 _Tells of a nameless deed."_

* * *

After dinner, the Bingley sisters left for the withdrawing room and Darcy subsequently walked out onto the terrace, ostensibly to smoke a cigarillo, leaving Bingley and Hurst to the brandy. But Darcy did not smoke. It was a habit that his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam had adopted in Spain during the Peninsular War. Darcy's valet had merely brought some of the cigarillos, kept for the colonel's convenience in the study, when he had returned to Darcy House for more of Darcy's clothes. Finn had appreciated their value as props.

Once on the terrace, Darcy vaulted the balustrade and headed off into the night. Despite his pre-prandial 'tonic', he had thought of nothing but blood throughout dinner. He supposed meeting Miss Elizabeth on the stairs had done it.

Once he reached the edge of the sward, Darcy found the path that led to the tenants' cottages. It was dangerous feeding so early in the night—one had to employ mesmerism rather than relying on donors being asleep. He decided to try first the cottage of the new arrival John Fairweather, whom Darcy had contracted to build Netherfield's dovecote. Darcy had implemented the count's strategy of distributing meat to his donors at Netherfield and it had already attracted three new families to the half-empty cottages. The poor occupancy had initially worried Darcy, because it meant he would have to roam further afield to feed, but things were well on their way to being self-sustaining. Bingley had been impressed by Darcy's management skills.

When Darcy knocked, he found Fairweather whittling some of the dovecote offcuts into toys by candlelight so that he might sell them at the upcoming Meryton fair. They discussed the dovecote, which Darcy had decided to expand—it seemed Mrs Nicholls had a hankering for squab also. Fairweather was happy to comply—more offcuts and more toys. Then Darcy succeeded in mesmerising him and all went to plan.

When Darcy walked back to Netherfield after midnight he was fairly certain Miss Elizabeth would be safe from him, but just to be sure he asked Finn to tie him to his bed.

Upon waking in the morning Darcy was disoriented, unsure of his surroundings. Was he in Derbyshire, London or Pest? With dawning recognition, Darcy noted the familiar window frame of Netherfield, but he was not in his own bedchamber, which was larger. Sitting up, he discovered a rag around his left wrist—a remnant of the bandage Finn had used to tie him to the bedstead last night, ripped and torn. A cold feeling crept over him as he recognised the scent on the bedclothes—it was Miss Elizabeth's.


	9. Moth to a flame

**Yes** , **_Keg_ , poor Darcy doesn't have much luck on the Continent!**

 **Suggestions for the title of chapter 8 were:**

 **"A Ruinous Thirst" by _Clara84_ ,**

 **"Temptress" by _Chica de Los Ojas Cafe,_**

 **"Blood lust" or "Not unpalatable enough to keep me tied" by _Laure SaintYves,_**

 **"Avoid the Attraction" and "Walking In The Rain" by _LotsofLaundry_ ,**

 **"Tied But Not Held" by _Mo21_ ,**

 **"To taste or not to taste" by _Ansujali_ ,**

 **"Drawn Like a Moth to the Flame" by _Deanna27_ ,**

 **"The ties that can't bind" by _anita1788_ ,**

 **"The Opposite of Unpalatable" or some variation on "Tasty Temptations." by _Windchimed_ ,**

 **"Toss and turn", "Sleepcravings", "Stronger than Morpheus",**

 **"Don't let Darcy bite!" by _austen16_ ,**

 **"Mission impossible?" by _nessy22_ ,**

 **"Unbearable Temptation" or "Irresistible Force." by _Lauramari_ ,**

 **"Social Temptations", "More than Tolerable Temptation",**

 **"Questionable Control", "Increasingly Offensive" by _amamama_ ,**

 **"Intolerable Temptation" by _Keg_.**

 **My contributions were "Leads to a big migraine", leading on from the previous chapter and "Wanderlust", inspired by your entry, _Laure SaintYves_.**

 **So difficult. "The ties that can't bind" was hilarious, _anita1788_ , but I think I'll go with "Moth to a Flame" by _Deanna27_.**

* * *

 **Chapter 9 Moth to a Flame**

On recognising Miss Elizabeth's scent on the bedclothes, Darcy's heart skipped a beat. Was this her bedchamber on the guest floor? He looked around. A carpetbag was open on a side table, with the gown she had been wearing last night poking from the top. There could no longer be doubt.

Panic gripped him. Was he a murderer? What had he done with her? He jumped up to open the closet; looked under the bed and behind the dressing screen. There seemed nowhere else to hide a body. In desperation, he looked behind the curtains.

Darcy attempted to calm himself as he tried to understand how he had ended up in her bedchamber. His memory was a blank. His mind ran through various scenarios. He tried the door; it was not locked. Perhaps she had escaped through it when he had climbed in through the window? He went to the window to examine it. When he tried it, it was fast. Then he discovered it was nailed shut. So he had not come through the window.

He looked at the door again—no sign of forced entry and the key on the inside. Had she left it unlocked when she went to bed or had he somehow mesmerised her from outside? The count could do such things by whispering, but he had said it only worked on weak-minded people. Somehow Darcy could not imagine Miss Elizabeth as such a person, based on his brief knowledge of her from the Lucas's soirée and yesterday's three-mile mission of mercy. Indeed, she appeared to be a young lady of some determination and resource.

Darcy walked back to the bed. The sheets were not bloody, torn or unnecessarily disturbed. That she had lain there, he could tell from her scent. Perhaps her sister had worsened in the night and she had gone to her aid? Perhaps he had not encountered her in the room at all? Here at last was a sanguine thought but not a very steady one—for having no evidence to support it at all, it had little to recommend it beyond hope. The fact that Darcy had no memory of his nocturnal excursion was his chief worry. He feared her influence on his vampiric nature.

Nonetheless, as there was no suggestion that Miss Elizabeth had come to any harm, Darcy realised his primary concern was to get back to his bedchamber before he was discovered in her room or walking around in his nightshirt by one of the servants. He judged it to be about nine in the morning. The chambermaid would no doubt soon be making her rounds to light the fires before the Bingleys began to rise at ten. Fortunately his rooms were not far away from the guest chambers. He had only to descend to the half landing of the stairs from whence a short corridor led to his chambers. His rooms, Mrs Nicholls had said when she first showed him the apartments, had once been the nursery. They had been refurbished for the heir of Netherfield to live in before his untimely death by accident at the age of twenty one. The Bingleys lived on the floor below the guest chambers. Even if they had risen uncharacteristically early, there should be no reason for him to encounter them on the stairs.

Darcy let himself out of the bedchamber without so much as a click of the lock on the strike plate. He trod noiselessly barefoot along the corridor. He had reached the top of the staircase, his goal within sight, when who should he see ascending the stairs in her dressing gown but Miss Bingley. There was nowhere to hide in the corridor and it occurred to him that it would be safest to confront her directly, when he saw she was not alone but followed by the apothecary. Darcy realised he had no choice but to flee, but he hesitated for a fraction too long. With a look of shock, Miss Bingley registered his presence. All he could do was grimace at her and shake his head once as he disappeared back into Miss Elizabeth's room.

He heard them pass in the corridor; the door of the adjacent room opened. He waited till he thought they had passed inside. But when he poked his head out to see if it was safe to emerge, Miss Bingley was still in the corridor, staring in his direction. She glanced into the guest chamber after the apothecary and hurried back towards him.

"What are you doing?" she hissed.

Darcy became uncomfortably aware that Miss Bingley was looking not at his eyes but at the gaping top of his nightshirt. He resisted the urge to fold his arms protectively across his chest, remembering his bandaged hand. He pushed it behind his back.

"I must have been sleepwalking," he extemporised. "My parents used to lock me in my room at Pemberley." This was the sterling truth, though Darcy had grown out of the habit by the time he was twelve. "Finn must have forgotten to lock me in last night," he added.

Miss Bingley looked incredulous. "But what are you doing in Elizabeth Bennet's room?"

"I do not know. I woke up here. She is not inside."

"She is with her sister," hissed Miss Bingley.

A huge weight lifted from Darcy's soul. She was all right! It was possible that he had merely entered the empty room after Miss Elizabeth had shifted to her sister's bedchamber sometime during the night; not encountered her at all! He could only hope that she had not sought refuge in her sister's room when he had attacked her.

"You must help me, Caroline. If it is discovered that I have been in her chamber, I may be forced to marry her."

Miss Bingley immediately saw the force of this argument. "I will keep everyone in the Bennets' room while you return downstairs," she said.

After receiving his answering nod, Caroline hurried back along the hall. Upon reaching Jane's bedchamber, she glanced inside and proceeded to shoo him in the direction of his rooms.

Darcy grimaced his thanks and fled silently down the stairs, disappearing through the door on the half landing. His reappearance in his chambers caused Finn to bless the Lord and cross himself.

"Sir, where have you been?" asked his valet, coming forth with

Darcy's quilted silk dressing gown. "I feared the worst when I found you had escaped the bandages."

"Oh, Finn! I woke up in Miss Elizabeth Bennet's bedchamber!"

Finn was aghast. "You did not harm her did you, sir or...?

"I have no idea," Darcy interposed. "I cannot remember anything. I woke on her bed, alone. Miss Bingley says she is her in sister's room but I do not know the circumstances of when or why she removed there."

Finn considered this for a moment."Well, until we know more, I suggest we stick to your daily routine, sir," he said, taking a kettle from the hob in the hearth, pouring a little of the water into a shaving mug and more into a bowl over which he draped a towel. His valet than proceeded to cut the ravaged bandage from Darcy's hand.

Half an hour later, Finn had just finished tying Darcy's cravat when there was a knock at the door.

"It is Miss Bingley, sir," Finn said, as he re-emerged from the short corridor. "She wishes to have speech with you."

Darcy pulled on his waistcoat, emerging to talk to Miss Bingley on the half landing. She had taken off her night cap and arranged her unbound hair over one shoulder.

"A chambermaid has changed the sheets in Miss Elizabeth's room," Caroline whispered. "You are safe."

"But what of her removal to her sister's room? I hope she did not flee there because of my intrusion?"

"I do not think so. She passed the chief of the night in Jane's room. She said that she is used to sleeping with her sister and does not mind that she is ill. Apparently she likes to sleep with the window slightly ajar and she could not open her window last night, so she changed rooms."

Darcy breathed a sigh of relief. "It is nailed shut."

"I suppose it must be broken," sighed Caroline. "Yet another thing the agent failed to mention! Will you be taking breakfast with us?"

"Will Miss Elizabeth be coming down?"

Caroline frowned and Darcy realised she had misinterpreted his question.

"If she is coming down," he explained. "I will take a tray in the study,"

"That will not be necessary. Jane is still too ill to leave her chamber. I offered to send a tray up to them."

"Thank you," Darcy said, giving her an earnest look. "I will get my coat and glasses and be down in half an hour."

Caroline preened and hurried off to dress.

But her exultation in gaining Darcy's favour was only momentary before her mind returned to the problem of Miss Elizabeth. After housing Jane in Netherfield's best guest bedchamber as common civility dictated, Miss Bingley had not put her sister in the second best guest chamber but in a small room next door to Jane's chamber that had originally been its dressing room, in order to encourage her to go away. The room had been modified by the absent owner years ago to accommodate small cousins at Christmas, the connecting door hidden behind the closet. After Darcy had left, Miss Bingley had discovered during her examination of the room that not only was the window nailed shut, but the door to the hall could not be locked despite its key. How awful if Mr Darcy had been forced to marry Eliza Bennet because of his sleepwalking!

Thinking that Elizabeth might have encountered Mr Darcy after all; that her excuse for removing to her sister's chamber might have been diplomacy, Caroline decided to offer Elizabeth a better bedchamber—one that could be locked. That would also explain the unusual order to the staff to change the sheets after only one night.

Caroline also resolved to leave her own door unlocked at night—for her bedchamber on the floor below was the one closest to the stairs and thus also to Darcy's bedchamber. Perhaps he would sleepwalk in the other direction, in which case she might soon call herself mistress of Pemberley.

* * *

Mrs Bennet, by a magical telegraph* that involved her sister and the apothecary's shop boy, was apprised of Mr Jones' visit to her daughter before the Bingleys had sat down to breakfast. In consequence she was soon on her way to Netherfield, with a check on her daughter's health as her excuse. She was accompanied by her three youngest daughters. Lydia and Kitty were eager to visit the militia in Meryton, which detour their mother had promised on their way back. Mary had been enticed by the local rumour that Netherfield had a great library, the truth of which she hoped to ascertain herself. Lydia and Kitty also admitted to some curiosity to seeing the interior of Netherfield, which had been shut up most of their lives.

Miss Bingley went to the window upon hearing the sound of the carriage. Peering between the curtains, which were kept closed for Mr Darcy's comfort, she announced the Bennets' advent with distaste to the rest of the breakfast party. Mr Hurst made a face over his glass of vinegar, which he drank every morning to keep his figure. Mr Darcy promptly excused himself to the study, taking his tea with him. Caroline motioned for a footman to open the curtains after his departure, lest Mrs Bennet comment on the gloom.

Mary was disappointed in not getting a glimpse of the library but in everything else Netherfield exceeded all of their expectations. After ascertaining that Jane was not on death's door, Mrs Bennet was glad to hear that the apothecary had recommended several days' bed rest and promptly extrapolated to Miss Bingley that it would be dangerous to move her eldest daughter.

Miss Bingley grudgingly reassured her that every care would be taken of Miss Bennet for as long as necessary.

After leaving Jane's bedchamber, Mrs Bennet made an excuse to return there as she descended the stairs, claiming she had forgotten to leave the vinaigrette she had brought for Jane. In a hurried private conversation, Jane and Lizzy were then subjected to all manner of advice on making the most of their stay, delivered by Mrs Bennet with many winks and nods. Lizzy was mortified to discover that her mother was now willing to forgive Mr Darcy after hearing of his more conciliatory behaviour at the Lucases' soirée and was forced to endure broad hints as to how to throw out lures to that gentleman.

On returning to the vestibule, Mrs Bennet lingered so long making conversation that Mr Bingley and the Hursts returned from their morning constitutional around the rose garden and Miss Bingley was obligated to invite the visiting Bennets into the parlour for tea. Over scones, Lydia asserted herself to remind Mr Bingley of his promise to hold a ball at Netherfield, which she had extracted at the Lucas's soirée. Bingley declared himself willing and was so amiable as to let her choose the day as soon as her sister had recovered. Lydia clapped loudly at her success but was soon importuning her mother not to forget they were yet to visit the officers.

After waving politely to her guests from the front door, Miss Bingley thanked the Lord for blessed silence after their carriage drove off, causing her sister to titter in agreement.

Lizzy spent the entire day with Jane, reading when her sister was awake and sitting near the window employed in needlework as she slept. A maid took her place briefly in the afternoon, so that she might get some fresh air. Jane felt slightly better towards the evening and when Mrs Nicholls enquired if Lizzy would be joining the Bingleys in the dining room, Jane encouraged her to go down.

When Lizzy met Mr Bingley on the stairs, he apologised for being tardy, having lost track of time when out riding.

"My sisters are playing at billiards if you wish to join them. Down the stairs and to the right."

Lizzy smiled her thanks and descended. The corridor to the right was quite short and only one door stood open, which Lizzy entered. It was quite dark inside and immediately obvious that it was not the billiards room. But as she turned to leave, her eyes, having adjusted somewhat to the gloom, spotted an interesting object on the table. It was an alchemy set, with all the familiar accoutrements of limbeks, flasks and vials, but with its own little cabinet, in which it could all be packed up for transportation. She almost clapped her hands with delight.

Stepping forward, Lizzy saw a small notebook beside it, a miniature ivory tablet, fanned open with pencil marks of a tally with a line drawn underneath and a calculation. Beside it, a letter lay open, covered with beautiful script in a remarkably even hand. Her eyes had just caught the signature "Charles B" when there was a slight noise near the door.

Turning, expecting to see a servant who might redirect her, she jumped when she perceived Mr Darcy not two feet behind her. Her heart skipped a beat. How had he got so close without her noticing?

"Good evening, Miss Elizabeth," Darcy said in his low, velvety voice.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*the first telegraphs, invented in the early eighteen century used semaphore rather than wires. The first successful semaphore network was invented by Claude Chappe and operated in France from 1793 to 1846. You will find a good description of a semaphore station in _The Count of Monte Cristo_.


	10. Chemistry

**There hasn't been a review for _The Lectrice_ for over a month so I will be taking it down from the 7th July at a rate of ten chapters per week. So if you haven't already read it, now is your last chance to do so for free. Thank you to everyone who made it a better story by reviewing!**

 **Thanks to _alix33_ and _Laure SaintYves_ for corrections.**

 **Suggestions for the title of chapter 9 were:**

 **"Come into My Lab" and "Let Me Show You My Vials" by _LotsOfLaundry_ ,**

 **"The futility of hiding" by _Deanna27_ ,**

 **"Who's Been Sleeping In My Bed?" by _Sacredwoman2K_ ,**

 **"Darcy's Great Escape" by _Dizzy Lizzy.60_ ,**

 **"Disturbing Bennets" by _ansujali_ ,**

 **"Hide in sick room" or "Odd wanderings" by _Laure SaintYves,_**

 **"Sleepwalker", "Nightcrawl" or "Nightcrawler" by _Chica De Los Ojas Café,_**

 **"Sleepwalking" by _nessy22_.**

 **Some really funny contributions by _LotsOfLaundry_ and _Sacredwoman2K_. Wow, this was really hard. I thought of "Wanderlust" again, based on your entry _LSY_ , but decided it worked better for the previous chapter, so I have swapped the titles around. How confusing will that be for readers?**

* * *

 **Chapter 10**

After seeing the lady he had so assiduously been avoiding walk into his den, Darcy's first impulse was to shut the door. But this instinct was swiftly checked by more rational thought. Perhaps it might be safest to quietly leave the room before his baser nature got the better of him? Darcy could not but feel that was a cowardly thing to do. He was still not entirely free of the worry that he had interfered with Miss Elizabeth last night during that damnable blank in his memory. What better way to expose the truth than to talk to the lady herself? He quietly approached her and bid her good evening.

When Elizabeth jumped visibly, Darcy realised his mistake—he had been unconsciously stalking her and should have made more noise on his approach. After her initial fright, Lizzy quickly regained her composure to explain her misdirection.

"I beg your pardon. Mr Bingley said the billiard room was the first to the right at the bottom of the stairs."

"He intended you to go straight," corrected Darcy, looking deep into her eyes where he saw no fear or evasion. He felt a brief moment of vertigo, as if he would fall into them. "It is next door," he added, tearing his eyes away, "—the first on the right as you head towards the front door."

"Oh! How stupid of me! I should have realised my error immediately but it is so dark in here. It took my eyes a moment to adjust. Then I saw this delightful little alchemy set!"

That set Darcy's teeth on edge—he was a member of the Royal Society. "It is a chemistry set," he said through gritted teeth. "I would not dabble in anything so unscientific as alchemy."

"I beg your pardon," said Elizabeth in a conciliatory tone. "But both words are from the same Arabic root. My father considers Jabir* to have been the first of the scientific men."

"The aims and practices of alchemy are anathema to reasoned thought," said Darcy, folding his hands across his chest.

"It is understandable that new knowledge should seek to divide the possible from the impossible," said Elizabeth gently; "that natural philosophers should wish to interpret their findings with fresh eyes, but there is also the danger of throwing the baby out with the bathwater."

Darcy's arms loosened and fell to his sides. Despite her soft tone, there was a strange fire in her eyes as she spoke. "You know something of alchemy?" he asked more civilly.

Elizabeth laughed. "Nothing. My father merely teases me about the time I spend in the still room, saying I wish to rival Rhazes#. I can make small beer, jam and toilet water, not gold or everlasting life. I beg your pardon for disturbing you."

She curtsied and walked quickly from the room in the direction of the billiards room, leaving Darcy to regret his manners—the way he had fired up when she mentioned alchemy. Just when he was supposed to be on his best behaviour—repairing the insult of the assembly—he had attacked her verbally. He knew he was extraordinarily sensitive about the topic of alchemy. His friends had teased him about the shift of his interests from natural philosophy to vitalism, which many of them thought as disreputable as the dark arts. In a one-minute conversation she had put her finger on the problem—he was indeed searching for the philosopher's stone, the secret of eternal life, _his_ secret.

Darcy walked to the vials and flasks on the table to stroke the glass, remembering his original aim in approaching her. She had not avoided his eyes. There was no fear in her. If he had touched her, she had no memory of it. That was something. He realised belatedly he should have looked for visible puncture wounds, but he had been distracted by her eyes. Nonetheless, she clearly intended to join the Bingleys at dinner which would give him another chance to observe her. Perhaps it would be better if she stayed at Netherfield for a while, then he would know for sure if he had transformed her.

Finn returned shortly after to find the master examining the apothecary set.

"You forgot to close the door after you, Finn," said Darcy.

"I am sorry, sir. I expected to be but a moment but was unfortunately detained."

"Miss Elizabeth came in when you left."

As the young lady was not lying on the carpet, Finn presumed no harm had come of it.

"You are stronger than you give yourself credit for, sir."

"When I am awake, it would appear so," said Darcy calmly.

* * *

Elizabeth spent a pleasant half-hour with the Bingley sisters who immediately offered her a cue. She took turns with Louisa against Caroline who was very skilled in rearranging the balls on the table. By the time they were called to dinner, Lizzy had grasped the principles of the game but knew she would have to put in many hours to rival Caroline.

When they repaired to the dining room, Caroline and Mr Bingley took opposite ends of the table, as Elizabeth had expected they would. Caroline directed her to sit next to her brother. Mr Hurst sat on Elizabeth's other side and Louisa directly opposite her. The mood changed immediately upon Mr Darcy's entrance; Caroline's eyes immediately flicked from him to Elizabeth, making Lizzy wonder if Miss Bingley had overheard something of their brief exchange in the study from the billiard room. Then Caroline straightened herself slightly and, with an ingratiating smile, invited Mr Darcy to sit down beside her.

The food that was set upon the table was quite different to what Elizabeth was used to—very elaborate dishes that she did not recognise. Lizzy had heard that the Bingleys employed a French cook and the viands seemed to confirm it. She took a little of each, not knowing what she would like and not wishing to leave anything upon her plate that might indicate disapprobation. Part of her wished she had remained upstairs to partake of Jane's gruel.

Mr Hurst noticed her hesitation. "You do not like ragout?" he asked incredulously, heaping one of the dishes upon his own plate.

"I am used to plain dishes, sir—a roast, some fish and vegetables."

Mr Hurst shook his head but was already too busy eating to reply. Elizabeth wondered how he managed to fit into those tight breeches.

"I like a good roast myself," agreed Bingley. "There is nothing better than roast beef with mustard or roast pork with apple sauce."

Elizabeth smiled her gratitude at him. He then proceeded to enquire politely of her sister. It was too soon for Jane to be better, so Lizzy could not give him any good news on that head. But she thanked him for his kind hospitality and for Caroline's attention—for Lizzy was a little embarrassed that Mr Jones had roused Caroline from her bed by calling so early. Elizabeth had advised Mrs Nicholls that if the apothecary should arrive early on the morrow, she would gladly come down to meet him to avoid again disturbing the lady of the house.

The rest of dinner passed in polite conversation but as the topics were of events and people in London, Elizabeth could contribute little. Nonetheless, Lizzy felt it a welcome break from the mealtime topics of Longbourn, which were typically dominated by her mother, and lately enlivened by Lydia and Kitty's endless observations of the officers of the militia. Occasionally Elizabeth thought she felt Mr Darcy's eyes upon her, which she confirmed once or twice by glancing towards him when Miss Bingley happened to be speaking. What he could mean by staring at her she could not guess. She could only imagine that she drew his notice because there was something more wrong and reprehensible, according to his ideas of right, than in any other person present. Perhaps he thought her dress too plain or her simply-dressed hair not fine enough. Caroline was wearing silk and she was sporting at least two hairpieces: an elaborately braided bun of not quite the right shade as her own hair and a curled fringe of the type adopted by the Empress Josephine.

When the ladies withdrew, Elizabeth would have returned to Jane if Caroline had not begged her to join them, which surprised Lizzy a little—for Caroline had made not one attempt to include Elizabeth in the dinnertime conversation as her brother did once or twice. Thinking it would be impolite to eat and run, Elizabeth assented, despite wishing to be back with her sister.

They sat in three fauteuils near the fire. In the absence of the gentlemen, Caroline immediately assumed the friendly character she had displayed in the billiard room. Miss Bingley could describe an entertainment with accuracy, relate an anecdote with humour, and laugh at her acquaintance with spirit. Louisa contributed her mite but was clearly the second fiddle.

The gentlemen were not long over their wine. Mr Bingley was keen for novel company and neither of the others objected to their speedy removal to the withdrawing room. Mr Hurst feared he had overindulged in ragout, despite eating extra potatoes to compensate, and was thus not averse to forgoing the port. Hurst was a little surprised that Darcy was willing to abstain; he rather wondered that Mr Darcy's countenance was not positively florid with the number of bottles he put away—his valet seemed to be constantly clearing them from his rooms. Hurst could only assume Darcy had a strong constitution.

Upon the gentlemen's entrance, Caroline immediately jumped up and called for tea, then raced to the pianoforte in order to entertain them. Hurst lounged on a settee and the other two gentlemen ranged themselves with their backs to the fire. Miss Bingley's performance was superlative, far better than anything Elizabeth could achieve. Towards the end of it, Mr Darcy sidled towards Lizzy and she got the feeling he was about to say something but he never did. As soon as the applause subsided, Mrs Nicholls providentially entered with the tea, and Elizabeth, making Jane as her excuse, departed.

Mr Darcy was at first unhappy to see her go. He had wanted to continue their conversation on alchemy, partly to make up from his earlier abruptness, but also because he was genuinely interested in its continuance. But once he had more time to reflect on it, Darcy was glad he had not done so. He knew it would rub Miss Bingley the wrong way and he also felt it was a conversation he would prefer to have in private. Perhaps there would be a chance to speak to Miss Elizabeth before she left Netherfield and if not, there was plenty of privacy to be had in a noisy ballroom or some other evening engagement when they might meet again.

Darcy retired early, changed, and climbed out the window. Finn had assured him he had found something better than the bandages to restrain him, but feeding was also an important preventative measure.

It was only as he was running back to Netherfield's manor house afterwards that Darcy's thoughts returned to Miss Elizabeth. During the afternoon, Miss Bingley had sought him out in the study for rather nebulous reasons, but in the course of her bibble-babble she had revealed some information that now slid into his head. The room that Miss Elizabeth had slept in last night was originally the dressing room for the bedchamber that Jane Bennet occupied, the interconnecting door behind the closet. The blacksmith, who had sent his boy to remove the lock from the hall door, had said he could not repair it within the next sennight. That meant that even if Miss Bennets locked their door, there was still a potentially unsecured way into their room via the dressing room.

Thus, instead of clambering up the south side of the house to enter the open window of his chamber and thus encounter Finn, Darcy walked around the east side of the house to stare at the guest chambers. The windows were dark; the Bennet sisters had gone to bed. Darcy continued around to the front of the house. It was easy to climb upon the portico and he found one of the windows of the upstairs sitting room to be unlocked. The Bingley sisters never used this room, preferring the grander rooms downstairs. Passing into the hallway, he crept past Charles's bedchamber—liking to read a little, his friend might still be awake. On past Caroline's room, Darcy ascended the carpeted stairs, being careful to avoid the step that creaked.

Finally he found himself on the guest level. He tried the Bennets' door first but, as expected, it was locked. Returning to the dressing room, he entered and noiselessly swivelled the closet aside. The door had no lock but the handle on this side had been removed. This proved no problem for the sword stick that the count had given him. Darcy padded noiselessly over the carpet to the four-poster bed.

The Bennets lay together with Jane facing the window and Elizabeth clasping her sister in her arms. In repose they were beautiful with their hair splayed upon the pillows—the dark and the fair.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*Jabir ibn Hayyan - the father of modern chemistry was the son of a pharmacist.

#Rhazes, an early proponent of experimental medicine, became a successful doctor. His works in alchemy present the first systematic classification of carefully observed and verified facts regarding chemical substances, reactions and apparatus, described in a language almost entirely free from mysticism and ambiguity.


	11. Restraint

**Thanks** **to _alix33_ for reminding me to explain things not in a concise dictionary.**

 **Suggestions for the title of chapter 10 were:**

 **"Playing with Fire" by _Clara84_ ,**

 **"Chemistry" by _Deanna27_ ,**

 **"Sleeping Beauties" and "If You Have The Time, She Has The Beer" by _LotsOfLaundry_ ,**

 **"Close Encounters of the Thirst Kind" by _Missouri Walker_ ,**

 **"Alchemy Made Simple" by _Sacredwoman2K_ ,**

 **"If at first you don't suc(k)eed"**

 **or "Alchemy between them" by _Katzenpfote_ ,**

 **"Alchemy vs Chemistry" by _Chica De Los Ojos Cafe,_**

 **"The Dark and the Fair" by _Dizzy Lizzy.60,_**

 **"Nocturnal Expeditions", "Unlikely Ally", "Strange Bedfellows" by _amamama_ ,**

 **"alchemy" by _advalorem_ ,**

 **"everything but the kitchen sink", "let me show you my...", "silent Watchman" by _anita1788_ ,**

 **"What's brewing?", "Elixir of life", "Pursuing a sweet nectar" by _austen16_ ,**

 **"The alchemy of an attraction" by _Laure SaintYves_.**

 **Some hilarious ones. Honourable mentions to _Katzenpfote_ and _Missouri_ **_**Walker**_ **for best puns and _LotsOfLaundry_ , who really chose her handle because of the acronym. I thought of "Nocturnal missions" based on your suggestion, _amamama_ , but I think "Chemistry" by _Deanna27_ works best.**

* * *

 **Chapter 11 Restraint**

Just why he had gone to Miss Elizabeth's bedchamber, Darcy could never satisfactorily explain to himself afterwards. His chief purpose, he had told himself as he swung the closet in the dressing room aside, was to assess Elizabeth's security—assure that she might be safe from him. Once he discovered the interconnecting door behind the closet was not secured in any way—neither by a lock or by nails—his goal somehow changed. He had determined to investigate whether he had interfered with her.

Now, as Darcy watched the Bennets sleep in the four-poster, he saw that Jane had thrown the covers from her chest but was covered by a modest nightgown. Her flushed cheeks and the slight frown on her face attested to her continued ill health. Elizabeth's bare arms grasped her sister protectively but Darcy could be only engrossed by their shapeliness, her pale skin in the dim light. The hairs upon her arms were so fine she might almost have been carved from marble if it were not for his certainty that if touched, her flesh would be pliant. Her gown revealed her neck, which was unblemished, as far as he could see, but her dark tresses obscured her nape.

With trembling hands Darcy reached out to sweep her locks aside, noticing she had taken off the ruby cross for sleep. His fingertips hovered a fraction of an inch above her skin, knowing that to touch her might prove fatal. There was no mark there. Nor did she appear to be ill in any way, though perhaps it was too early to tell if she was in the grip of the transformation. He could not exclude the possibility that he had bitten her elsewhere but did not think it likely. With the exception of Finn, Darcy had fed exclusively on the lower classes. Somehow it felt less like theft because he always left the meat in exchange, which they could rarely afford to eat. Besides, there was something too intimate, almost lewd, about feeding from the less accessible points the count had taught him.

Darcy realised he had been holding his breath but repressed sighing in relief; for then he must inhale. He feared his nearness to Miss Elizabeth might make him lose control. He took a step backwards but reflexively bent his torso nearer as if he were invisibly chained to the bed. It was bizarre. What was her hold over him?

Finally he wrenched himself free and without a backward glance, Darcy retreated and slid the closet back into place. He fled back down the stairs as if a demon was on his tail. Closing the door to his own apartments he leant against it and almost sobbed—knowing that demon was himself. There was nothing more he could do than wait to see if she was transformed.

Finn appeared at the end of the short corridor.

"Sir, are you well? I expected you to come back through the window."

"I have been upstairs, Finn."

Finn was silent, unwilling to voice the question that needed to be asked.

"I did not harm her," said Darcy without prompting. "I wanted... needed to see if there were any bite marks. Her door is unlocked. I hope the restraints you have prepared are more robust than last night's."

Darcy's valet gave a brief nod before helping Darcy undress, laying the dew-soaked hessians and breeches aside. Finn chatted as he worked.

"I had thought the lock on the main guest bedchamber was fine, sir?" he pointed out in puzzlement. "Indeed, I checked it myself yesterday when I went up with the chambermaid, claiming Miss Bingley had asked me to inspect the other locks for faults."

"The lock on the main door is fine, but there is another access point. Behind the dressing screen there is a door to the chamber Miss Elizabeth originally occupied—it was formerly the dressing room."

"But is that door not obstructed by a heavy closet on the other side?" asked Finn, who had tested the weight of the oak closet himself.

"Not heavy enough," said Darcy, causing Finn to raise his eyebrows.

Darcy cleansed himself with the warm towel and donned the nightgown.

"No matter," said Finn before leading his master to the bed. "I was mindful of the information that Miss Elizabeth likes to keep her window ajar. I believe I have found a solution."

Four stout chains were fastened to the four-poster.

"Where did you get these?" asked Darcy in wonder.

"The stables, sir. They are horse hobbles. One for a cob for your ankles, and another they use for the thoroughbreds for your wrists. I hope it will not be too uncomfortable to sleep with your arms and legs splayed tonight but I did not have time to get them lengthened. I spent all afternoon cleaning them with a toothbrush."

Darcy examined the hobbles. Finn had reinforced the bedposts with thin spikes under the attachments.

"Thank you," said Darcy gratefully, before lying on the bed so that his valet might restrain him. "You will need to be careful they are hidden when the chambermaid enters."

Finn answered in the affirmative, closing the manacles over his wrists and fastening them with the pins. He already managed Darcy's bedclothes since his master was extraordinarily fussy about the sheets, having them changed once a week and deploring wrinkles. The hobbles would need to be taken off once a day when the mattress was rolled*. But he could easily hide them beneath the bedclothes when the chambermaid was admitted to clear the hearth or the chamberpot.

Finn then bound Darcy's ankles with the iron shackles, hoping the clumsy things would not be too uncomfortable. Darcy finally fell asleep around six in the morning, feeling like Vitruvian# man. It was damned uncomfortable—not so much the cold, hard iron, on his limbs but the limited movement the short chains afforded him. At least his mind was easy, knowing Miss Elizabeth would not be disturbed.

When Darcy woke just before eleven, it was clear he had tried to escape during his slumber—his ankles and wrists were rubbed raw, causing Finn to exclaim. But the hobbles had held fast. Darcy allowed Finn to bind up the raw skin, though he knew it would be healed in only a few hours.

The next few days passed uneventfully. So that Darcy might be more comfortable, Finn asked Netherfield's head groom to have the short chains of the hobbles that joined the animal's fore or aft legs lengthened at the blacksmith. In doing so, he handed the groom two fivers, asking that he pass one on to the blacksmith to also expedite the fixing of the lock to the small guest chamber. Finn had, of course, not revealed why he needed the hobbles in the first place when he had handed over a similar amount in the stables yesterday. The groom naturally concluded his fiver was meant to continue his silence. If Mr Darcy or his valet were in the hellfire club or some such, he was sure it was no business of his.

Despite the blacksmith's original estimate of a week, the fixed lock came back to Netherfield that very evening. This was very gratifying but did not surprise Finn. It had been his distinct impression when he walked past the blacksmith's shop soon after their arrival in the district that the fellow was not busy. Finn could only surmise that Miss Bingley had earned the time delay by insulting the blacksmith somehow.

As for Darcy, he gave Miss Elizabeth a wide berth, to the point of ignoring her. A particularly notable incident occurred one evening when she sat down next him as he was reading near the hearth. Lizzy had been called up to Jane briefly after dinner to deal with an embarrassing incident—her sister had woken from her sleep to find her period had come a little early. Jane preferred Lizzy's assistance over the unfamiliar maids of Netherfield.

On returning downstairs at Jane's insistence, Elizabeth found the Bingleys playing silver loo, which she could in no way afford to join; nor did she wish to fritter her pin money away in such a frivolous pursuit. She chose a book instead and sat down beside Mr Darcy who was similarly occupied. She gave him a polite smile as she seated herself but he did not so much as bother to look up. Her book, which was the only novel besides Udolpho in the Bingleys' bookcase, proved singularly stupid. She longed for Caroline to call for tea so that she might drink hers and politely escape. But Miss Bingley was winning and apparently so engrossed in her game that only the clock striking nine recalled her to her duties. The entire time Mr Darcy sat in so stiff a posture, so pointedly ignoring her, that Lizzy became momentarily more annoyed. Finally, Miss Bingley's call for tea gave Lizzy an excuse to move herself. She got up, stretched, and then watching the Bingleys' game over their shoulders until tea arrived. Upon taking her cup, she took another for Jane as her excuse, bid them goodnight and disappeared.

Despite Darcy's seeming indifference, Miss Bingley's suspicions were raised by this incident and many others, for though Caroline might have been too engrossed at the time to call for tea, she was never too occupied not to be aware of where Mr Darcy was in the room and what he was doing. She could not but help notice how Darcy looked Elizabeth's way every time he entered the room when she was present; the way he was standoffish to everyone whenever she was there. He only seemed to relax when Elizabeth returned to her sister.

A less calculating person would have immediately attributed his odd behaviour to an active dislike of Elizabeth, but Caroline began to fear it was quite the opposite. She knew that Darcy was worried about Charles becoming entangled with Jane and thought it likely that Darcy was holding himself similarly aloof from Elizabeth. To test her theory, Miss Bingley began to tease Darcy, alternating praise of Miss Elizabeth's beauty and virtues with sneers at her family and situation. His answers, when a reply could be elicited, did not ease her mind. Darcy thought he conveyed indifference, but he was no actor. His silences and hesitation spoke volumes. Worse still, Charles began to defend the Bennets and she was forced to restrict her criticism to moments when he was absent.

Elizabeth could not help but notice the onset of Miss Bingley's coldness and the occasional catty remark directed towards her that escaped her hostess's lips—always seconded by a titter from Louisa. All her original dislike of the haughty Bingley sisters resurfaced. In Elizabeth's mind, she and Jane could not be gone from Netherfield too quickly.

But Jane's illness was a stubborn one, having descended to her lungs. All Elizabeth could do was tend her sister assiduously. A crisis came in the wee hours on Saturday morning. Elizabeth plied her sister with barley water, reanimated the fire to brew a tisane on the hob and spent an hour bathing her sister's forehead with vinegar. She was getting really alarmed, just about to send for Mr Jones, when the fever broke and Elizabeth had the felicity of seeing her sister fall asleep.

Having spent all night tending Jane, Elizabeth was really exhausted, but the anxiety she had felt on her sister's behalf would not allow herself to fall immediately asleep. At Longbourn, she frequently felt restless, hemmed in by a strange dissatisfaction she could not explain—a wish to do something, anything, that went beyond her humdrum existence. When she felt like this, she often escaped outside and ran. Although she had wished to do this at Netherfield on several occasions, sometimes in response to Mr Darcy, sometimes to Caroline, propriety had kept the impulse in check. But on that morning, she found it impossible to deny herself.

Elizabeth let herself out Netherfield's front door rather than risk encountering a servant going through the kitchens. Fortunately it was only bolted, not locked. She could see it was very foggy outside in the pre-dawn light, so thick you could cut it with a knife. She briefly contemplated running along the drive, the edges of which should be easily discernible despite the fog, but knowing Mr Bingley's windows faced that way and fearing the crunch of her boots on the gravel might disturb him, she stole along the terrace. She turned around the east side of the house, past the French doors of the study, with the sward at the south-east corner of the house her destination.

She had launched herself off the terrace steps with a determined leap of the last three steps, intent on running as far as the long grass when she ran smack bang into Mr Darcy. She was not sure how they managed it—he, too, must have been moving with some speed—but a black form suddenly loomed in the fog and, before she could stop, Elizabeth found herself crashing into his chest. She had never come into bodily contact with a man under such circumstances before—the little skirmishes due to wrong steps in the quadrille were nothing to it. It was as if he was made of an entirely different substance, somewhere between oak and iron. She gasped; the wind knocked out of her.

"Sh...Sugar! Mr Darcy! You scared me!" she exclaimed, stepping backwards only to find he had captured her wrists in a vice-like grip and was staring at her in a wild way.

After a moment's hesitation he released her and took a step backwards, lowering his eyelids to hide the blaze of his eyes.

"Miss Elizabeth," he replied in his polite formal way, as if they had just been introduced at a soirée.

She felt foolish, as if he had caught her running about without her shoes or skipping in the hallway. "I beg your pardon. I have been up all night with Jane."

"I hope your sister is feeling better?"

"She was very bad last night, but I believe she might be through the worst of it."

"I am glad of it."

At that moment the sun crested the horizon and they were suffused with its soft glow through the fog. Mr Darcy winced. Elizabeth realised it was the first time she had seen him in the daylight without his dark glasses. She saw now he was dressed in the strange entirely black garb he typically wore to dinner, not the more typical gentleman's dress of buckskin breeches and snowy white cravat that he had worn on the few occasions when she had encountered him during the day. In short, she realised he had been out all night.

For some reason Elizabeth found this dreadfully embarrassing. She now knew the secret of his black clothes—he went out carousing at night. She had certainly not picked it in his character. He had seemed so stiff and formal. Granted she had noted he generally took the Ton's habit of sleeping in to extremes—she had seen him emerging from his rooms around midday. But so dissolute!

Elizabeth's mind flew back to the present and she dipped a brief curtsey, remembering his solicitude on Jane's behalf. "Thank you."

They stared at each other for a moment longer. Then he dived past her with a long stride and she heard a 'good day' drift over his shoulder. He ran up the terrace steps and let himself into the house through the French doors of the study.

After he disappeared, Elizabeth walked quickly to the edge of the sward, but her encounter had quite taken the wind from her sails. She paced back and forward for a while, muttering to herself as she replayed their encounter and wincing at the stupidness of her words; the fact she had almost unleashed a swear word in his presence. She ran around half-heartedly in circles. Finally she felt slightly less agitated and ran full tilt back towards the house, but slowed to a more respectable pace as she got nearer, conscious that Mr Darcy might even now be observing her.

Someone had re-bolted the front door and she was forced to walk back in through the kitchens which were fully alive with the preparations for the day. She begged pardon and took a brass pail of hot water as her excuse, explaining Jane had had a terrible night. Upon reaching their bedchamber, she found Jane still asleep. Replacing the kettle with the pail upon the hob, she undressed quickly and snuggled into bed beside her sister.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*horsehair mattresses were typically smoothed with a large rolling pin to prevent them getting lumpy.

#The Vitruvian Man, or simply L'Uomo Vitruviano, is a drawing by Leonardo da Vinci around 1490. It is so called because it is accompanied by notes based on the work of the architect Vitruvius.


	12. Like attracts like

**Thanks for your corrections _alix33_. As people didn't wash very often in those days, they probably found the smell of vinegar astringently refreshing.**

 **Suggestions for the title of chapter 11 were:**

 **"Fighting the Bite" by** ** _JAFan1995_** **(I know the hymn you mean and your new lyrics are now stuck in my head),**

 **"Sinner or saint, runner or rake?" or "Run, Lizzy, run!" by** ** _austen16_** **,**

 **"Honour Bound" by** ** _Deanna27_** **,**

 **"In The Garden of Good and Evil" by** ** _Dizzy Lizzy.60,_**

 **"Irresistible Force/Immovable Object" or "Dawning Comprehensions" by** ** _amamama_** **,**

 **"Hobbled For Safety" and "Magnetized" by** ** _LotsOfLaundry_** **,**

 **"Hobbles" by** ** _Chica De Los Ojas Cafe_** **,**

 **"Striking encounter" or "In the fog" by** ** _Laure SaintYves_**

 **I liked "Sinner or saint", austen16, but decided to go with "Restraint", which was suggested by your entry,** ** _Deanna27_** **.**

* * *

 **Chapter 12 Like attracts like**

After the crisis of the evening, Jane improved rapidly though her cough was very bad. On Mr Jones' next visit, he pronounced himself pleased with her progress, thought she was out of danger, but recommended further bedrest until the phlegm was cleared from her lungs. He also suggested getting up occasionally, provided she did not feel dizzy, to improve her circulation. Thus it was on Saturday evening that Jane came down to the withdrawing room for tea for the first time since the onset of her illness.

Elizabeth supported her sister's elbow as they entered the room, but Mr Bingley, who was standing with his back to the fire, raced to their assistance. He claimed Jane's other arm before encouraging her to sit down in the chair closest to the fire. Lizzy was really gratified by his solicitude, which stood in stark contrast to the behaviour of the others in the room. When Jane coughed, Caroline even took a step backwards and covered her mouth with her handkerchief.

In consequence of Jane's appearance, Mr Bingley refused to rejoin the card table after tea, much to Hurst's disgust. Charles chose instead to stand beside Jane's chair. He began an amiable conversation, which Jane was only well enough to reply to in monosyllables, but she delivered each of these with a smile and Elizabeth soon added her mite to redress the deficiency. They laughed and joked about all the social functions they had enjoyed together and the discourse soon arrived at the promised Netherfield ball, which Charles immediately began to plan.

Caroline, whose overwhelming boredom with country living had prompted her several days ago to begin discussing with Louisa their return to London, now looked at her sister in alarm.

"You cannot be serious about this ball, Charles? You need to be back in London to attend to business by the end of the month."

"I can easily ride to London and back in a single day to sign a few documents, Caroline. As for the ball, I want to put on a real show. I wish it to be talked about for months to come, years even! I know you are equal to it!"

"But Charles! You cannot have thought this through! I would advise you, before you determine on it, to consult the wishes of the present party; I am much mistaken if there are not some among us to whom a ball would be rather a punishment than a pleasure."

"If you mean Darcy," cried her brother, "I cannot see why, despite his antisocial tendencies. He prefers the darkness to light and dances better than any of us. He should excel at balls! Come Darcy, admit you only pretend to dislike balls because they do not fit your otherwise studious character!"

"Whatever you say, Charles," said Darcy, embarrassed his aversion for light had become the topic of conversation and hoping to be forgotten quickly before any more of his vampiric tendencies came under scrutiny.

"I do not think your business can be achieved in one day, Charles," said Caroline. "You had better take Mr Darcy with you. I am sure he can give you all manner of advice on how you might do things better."

"I am eternally grateful for the advice Darcy has given me about the estate," replied Charles; "but as to the mills in the north, I have managed them well enough until now and I am sure Darcy does not wish to be bothered with them."

"If nothing else, you should take note of his penmanship," retorted Caroline. "He has the most wonderfully even hand, whereas you are all blots and scrawl. It looks like a spider has crawled over your page!"

"Two spiders!" chorused Louisa.

"What does it matter?" replied Charles cheerfully. "If my man of business understands it, it has served its purpose. If my next letter should arrive in the best English Roundhand*, he would probably think it a forgery!"

This argument rather puzzled Elizabeth at first, for she had assumed the well written letter from 'Charles B' that she had seen in the study had been from Mr Bingley. She at first wondered if Mr Bingley's sisters were joking, for the script she had seen was superlative. But when Louisa ran to the secretaire to extract a letter that her brother had been composing and exhibited it to all and sundry in support of Caroline, Elizabeth realised she had been mistaken. Mr Bingley's hand was truly execrable.

Bingley blushed, laughed and ripped the sheet in two, throwing it into the fire, much to Caroline's consternation—for she had been hounding him to reply to his man of business for two days.

He then distracted his sisters by requesting some musical entertainment. Caroline was quick to reclaim the piano and rather than play an air like her brother had requested, she immediately launched into Mozart's Turkish March—for Caroline had heard that although Miss Elizabeth's performance on the keyboard was mediocre, her singing was superlative, and Miss Bingley was keen that she not be given a chance to display her voice at Netherfield.

Miss Bingley's talents were not taxed too long. Jane's stamina was still not great and she was visibly drooping as Caroline played. Thus on the final note, Elizabeth stood to applaud Caroline's performance and immediately suggested that Jane return to bed.

Mr Bingley got up to escort them out and finding Jane weaker than he liked, offered to support her arm up the stairs. This, Caroline could not like, but when she offered to take her brother's place, Bingley pointed out that Mr Darcy's teacup was empty.

He thus got the Bennet sisters out the door and closed it behind him. Elizabeth retrieved a branch of candles. When she would have taken Jane's other arm, Mr Bingley put his fingers to his lips and silently scooped Jane into his arms. Jane was too weak to protest and Elizabeth, seeing that her sister was close to collapse, was immediately remorseful that she had encouraged Jane to come downstairs. Clearly her sister had not been ready for it.

Although Mr Bingley was almost as tall as Mr Darcy, he was slight, and Lizzy at first thought Jane would be too much for him. But he carried her manfully up the four flights of stairs and, as he was wearing only his shirtsleeves and waistcoat, Elizabeth was able to appreciate his shoulders were very square—not fashionable#, but wonderfully strong. When they reached the guest floor, Lizzy thought Mr Bingley might put Jane down, but he asked Elizabeth if she would mind getting the door and carried Jane all the way to her bed. Elizabeth threw back the covers and after settling her on the sheets, Bingley bowed respectfully and bid them both good night.

Caroline, who had been forced to refresh the teapot with more water from the hearth in order to fill Mr Darcy's cup, had little time to be suspicious of her brother's absence before he returned to the room, adjusting his breeches, as if he had detoured to the chamberpot. Her query on his long absence was met with a raised eyebrow and an obscure comment on 'a fellow not being able to do anything in private', which seemed to confirm the nature of his business.

The topic soon reverted to the ball. But just as it was devolving into a family argument, Darcy got up, removed a cigarillo from his waistcoat, and excused himself.

Upstairs, Lizzy had undressed her sister and was preparing herself for bed, all the time apologising to Jane for overtaxing her. Elizabeth realised that her selfish wish to be gone from Netherfield had tempted her to see more progress in Jane's condition than had actually been the case. Jane heard the bulk of her sister's mea culpa without comment but eventually was moved to stretch out her hand to her sister to silence her. Lizzy grasped Jane's hand and laid her head against it, then quickly finished changing and blew out the candles, snuggling up to her sister who had already fallen asleep.

* * *

Sunday morning saw the Bingleys go off to Meryton for church. Since arriving at Netherfield, they had been attending the eleven o'clock service, as suggested by Sir William Lucas. It was longer and more elaborate than the early morning or evening services and generally avoided by the bulk of the lower classes in the town.

Elizabeth went out to walk in the rose garden after the Bingleys left. As she wandered the paths she caught sight of a pigeon returning to the newly constructed dovecote on the south side of the house. They had eaten squab once since she had come to Netherfield. She could only conclude from the size of the new structure that it must be a favourite of the Bingleys. She was continuing her walk, enjoying the sunshine and not wanting to return to the house, when she saw Mr Darcy's valet emerge from the study and approach the dovecote. He was, as usual, dressed very fashionably in clothes almost as fine as his master's, though more restrained, probably to preserve the distinction of rank. So it struck her as rather odd when he climbed the ladder and began fishing around inside the dovecote to retrieve a bird. Upon his turning back towards her to lean against the upper rungs of the ladder, Elizabeth saw he was wearing an apron to protect his clothes. He was touching the bird, stroking it, she thought at first, but when he put something in his apron pocket and returned the bird to the dovecote she was truly puzzled. Perhaps he had plucked out a feather?

The valet climbed down and turned back towards the house. As he neared her, Elizabeth took a couple of steps into the shade of a tree so that she might continue to observe him surreptitiously. He had taken an object out of the pocket of the apron and was fiddling with it. He seemed to extract something from it and then returned his hand to his pocket, but in doing so, the object fell to the grass. He ran up the steps and disappeared through the French doors into the study, seemingly oblivious of his loss.

Elizabeth ran to the base of the steps to see what had fallen there and found it to be a small leather carrying case. Turning it over, she saw it was a harness for a pigeon and immediately realised that Mr Darcy must keep carrier pigeons. She had hitherto thought them only the province of sultans and rajahs. Clearly it was honourable to return the lost harness, but Lizzy did not like to knock on the study door, lest Mr Darcy answer it himself, for she knew he had not gone off to church with the others. Mr Bingley had explained that Darcy was not much one for religion when he invited her to accompany them to church yesterday evening before dinner, offering a maid to sit with Jane. As Mr Darcy had not by then yet walked into the room, Elizabeth could not cheekily ask him directly why he was so averse to worship, and the opportunity to do so without impertinent curiosity was gone by the time Mr Darcy walked in, for the topic of church had passed. Elizabeth had, of course, declined going to church herself on account of Jane.

So Elizabeth laid the harness on the balustrade, where anyone emerging from the study door would see it, and walked along the terrace to return to her sister. But she had only gone a few steps when she heard the word 'Damn!' escape through one of the study windows that was slightly ajar. She could only conclude that Mr Darcy had not been best pleased with his communication and wryly thought he would have better gone to church, to educate his mouth.

* * *

Inside the study, Darcy was seething with frustration, pacing up and down as he read his letter.

"What does he mean 'he cannot find it in anyway unpalatable'? It is as clear as day!"

"Perhaps the vials were mislabelled, sir?" offered Finn.

"Impossible!" expostulated Darcy before coming to a stop, having finally read something that met his approbation. "Ah! But he does go on to say that he agrees they taste different but 'that it is no more than different varieties of grapes!' Heaven preserve me! Must I collect yet more samples to prove my point?"

Finn sighed unhappily as he removed the apron he had been wearing. An unaccustomed frown creased his brow. "Perhaps..."

"What?" asked Darcy testily as he discarded the letter to the mantel.

"Perhaps, we are looking at it the wrong way, sir. Perhaps, the two groups are different, which the count concedes, but it is a matter of taste—you find this additional group unpalatable, but he does not. Perhaps it is not just a property of the blood, but also of you?"

Darcy grunted dismissively. "Are you suggesting there are different types of vampire?"

"Perhaps," said Finn, rolling up his shirt sleeves. "I have been thinking of your conversation with Miss Elizabeth of alchemy. Did you not say that she warned you not to throw the baby out with the bathwater?"

"You have lost me, Finn. Of what relevance is that?"

"Perhaps it is a question of compatibility? If you can discern different types of blood, then we must all have different types and perhaps you and the count also. What if you are attracted to blood that is more like your own? Is there not an alchemical principle that 'like attracts like'?" asked Finn as he handed Darcy one of the singlesticks and adopted the customary pose with his left hand shielding his head, faced his master en garde.

Still cogitating Finn's conjecture, Darcy took the first swipe. "Rubbish!" he concluded emphatically.

Then they went at it hammer and tongs. Darcy did not hit with full force, enjoying merely the thrust and parry of the sticks. Nonetheless, Finn's breath was rather ragged by the time he heard the Bingleys' carriage returning and conceded, though Darcy had barely worked up a sweat. Still, despite his valet's shorter stature, Darcy realised that Finn was a far worthier opponent than Bingley.

"All the years you have worked for me, Finn, why did you never tell me you were so skilled at singlestick? Here I have been jauntering about in search of opponents, when my valet is a most worthy adversary."

"I am not as good as Colonel Fitzwilliam, sir, and it was never necessary until your daytime excursions became restricted."

"Yet you still did not volunteer till Netherfield. Admit it, you got tired of watching Bingley's clumsy moves."

"I am sure he is a far better businessman than sportsman," commented Finn diplomatically.

"Oh! The backhanded compliment! I applaud you! Never a nasty word from you, is there, Finn?"

"My sister would not agree, sir," laughed Finn as he put the wooden swords away.

Darcy retired to the fire to read the Bible until he should be called for lunch. This he did every Sunday in place of church services, for his aversion was not for religion, as he had implied to Bingley, but to light. He had regularly attended the evening service at St George's, Hanover Square during his first winter as a vampire in London. At Netherfield the gap had been filled by the rector of Pemberley, who had provided him with a list of readings for private study. But Darcy's mind soon ceased to concentrate on the words in front of him and returned to ponder Finn's theory of the unpalatable groups.

At first, Darcy could not conceive that it could be so, but by the time he was called to the dining room, he was willing to concede that Finn might be onto something. Suppose there were two major groups, I and II. He and the count belonged to group I whereas the Bingleys and roughly twenty percent of the population belonged to group II. But within group I there were two subgroups, a and b. The count belonged to group a whereas he belonged to group b. Darcy had estimated that his second unpalatable group, which should correspond to group a, constituted forty percent of the population. If Finn was right then group b, the palatable donors of his group, should constitute the remaining forty percent. Now Darcy was excited because he had previously estimated his pool of palatable donors at thirty-five percent of the population. He was about to jump up to share his discovery with Finn when the obvious question occurred to him—why did the count not find group b unpalatable? Still, Finn's idea potentially tallied with some of the observations—perhaps further refinement would yield the answer; Darcy jotted some notes on his ivory tablet and returned to his reading.

When the Bible in his lap reminded him that he was supposed to be observing the holy day, Darcy dutifully finished his chapter and laid the Bible aside. His mind drifted to his other special group, the one that was the opposite of unpalatable and only contained Elizabeth Bennet. What could be the basis of that?

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*sloping shoulders were considered by the upper classes to beautiful at the time, possibly as means of denigrating bodies honed by work.

#English Roundhand is a style of cursive writing characterised by an open flowing script and subtle contrast of thick and thin strokes deriving from metal pointed nibs, developed in the 1660s primarily by the writing masters John Ayres and William Banson


	13. Fox on the run

**Thanks** **to _CillaT_ for corrections.**

 **Suggestions for the title of chapter 12 were:**

 **"Like attracts like" or "Blood alchemy" by _Laure SaintYves_ ,**

 **"Strange Blood Fellows" by _Dizzy Lizzy.60_ ,**

 **"Tasty Hematology" or "Male Contrasts", or "Sneaky" by _LotsOfLaundry_ ,**

 **"Palatable enough to tempt me" or simply "Findings",**

 **"Group Dynamics" by _Missouri Walker,_**

 **"en garde", "Don't throw the baby out with the bathwater",**

 **"Blood Groupings", "Thrust and Parry",** **"Palatable Donors" by _Sacredwoman2K_ ,**

 **"A matter of taste" by _Anglocelt_.**

 **Again, so many good ones! I really liked the double meaning of your suggestion, _Missouri Walker_ , but I thought it sounded a bit modern, so I thought of "Of groups" or "Group Theory", which I admit don't work as well. "En garde" was also good, _Sacredwoman2K_. In the end I decided to go with "Like attracts like" by _Laure SaintYves._**

* * *

 **Chapter 13 Fox on the run**

"You have a hide* turning up here!" hissed the lady at the door in Edward Street.

"Now, now, Mary. Be nice to a poor fellow who is down upon his luck."

The woman sighed and opened the door. "Step in quickly, then. Who knows but the earl's men are still watching me. If they find you here they will know my complicity."

Once she had closed the door behind her guest, the lady raised the volume of her voice considerably. "Why did you not take Georgiana directly to Gretna Green as we had planned? Darcy was a day and a half behind you. If you had hired four horses, there was no way he could have caught you, even if he rode like the wind!"

"I was set upon by some thieves when I left The Wheatsheaf the night before."

"More like you lost the money I gave you at play! Well, no more, George."

"Did Darcy die? Is there a warrant for my arrest?"

"It would have been wise to ascertain that before you returned to London," the woman said sourly.

"As you see," said Wickham, stroking a bristly moustache. "I come in disguise. I think it looks rather Continental."

Mrs Younge scowled at him. George Wickham was a handsome devil and he knew it. "I heard Darcy is very bad. Not expected to live. But as yet there has been no notice in the papers of his death. What possessed you to fire upon him?"

"It was an accident," said Wickham. "He should not have flown at me like he did. You should have seen him! He was quite diabolic! I never thought he had it in him!"

Mrs Younge almost rolled her eyes. George couldn't lie straight in his bed*. "You can stay here tonight but you need to be gone before dawn."

Wickham smiled to himself. He was sure he could get Mrs Younge to change her mind before dawn. "Do you have anything to eat? Some ale and some bread?"

"There are some leftovers from tonight's pie," she said, leading him towards the kitchen.

Wickham dumped his carpetbag in the hall and followed her. They got as far as the dining room, dimly lit by two candles and the hearth. Two men in militia uniforms were lounging at their ease, sharing a cigarillo over their empty plates.

Mrs Younge coughed and waved away the smoke. "Smoke that outside," she reprimanded.

"Your mother said it would be all right," replied the older man mildly, but stubbed it out anyway.

"Why, Harry!" cried Wickham, recognising the voice.

The older man, who was wearing a lieutenant's uniform, peered through the smoke and gloom at the stranger who had walked in with the landlady's daughter.

"George! Why, I did not recognise you with that growth on your face! What have you being doing with yourself?"

Wickham smoothed his moustache. "Why, blending in with the Frenchies, what else? I had to skip town over a little matter."

"George! the tipstaffs aren't after you again? By God, you'll end up in the King's Bench Prison!"

"Look who's talking!" retorted Wickham. "What are you doing in that uniform?"

"My father bought me a commission in a militia. This is my friend Denny," he said, indicating the younger man who was clearly only an ensign.

George pulled out a chair and sat down. Mrs Younge glared at him resentfully and continued to the kitchens, returning after five minutes with a tankard of ale and the remains of a cold pie on a plate. She dumped these unceremoniously in front of Wickham and bid him a cold goodnight.

"Good evening, Mary," George said sweetly. "I'll be up in half an hour."

She scowled at him again, annoyed he'd made his intentions so clear in front of the others, particularly Harry Winston who was not a bad looking man and whose father seemed to have money. Thinking that discretion was the better part of valour, Mrs Younge went off—she would have words with George later about his high-handed ways.

Harry relit the cigarillo as Wickham began to ply his knife and fork.

"So," said Wickham, "how is life in the militia?"

"Damned horrible. We are currently posted to a sleepy town in Hertfordshire and our colonel is a strict disciplinarian. It's damned flat! Stealing chickens has afforded me the only bit of fun I have had in my time there. Denny and I came up to London on two days' leave to get a bit of relief, if you know what I mean."

"Hertfordshire, heh?" mused Wickham. He had hoped it would be safe to return to London after his short excursion to France but Mary's circumspection suggested the earl was still looking for him. "I don't suppose they are taking on any more men?"

"Yes, we are short two officers," said Denny eagerly. "The colonel asked us to keep a lookout for recruits."

"How much is an ensigncy?" asked Wickham.

"They won't take you," said Harry. "You're too old. You'll have to buy a lieutenancy if you want to join—two hundred and fifty pounds. But I tell you what, I've a fancy to join the regulars but my father told me he wouldn't pay the extra for the transfer unless I managed to sell my current commission—knowing damn well they're having trouble getting enough officers after Waterloo. I'll sell you my commission cheap."

"No, Harry! Don't go!" pleaded Denny. "It'll be damned flat without you! They'll pack you off to France!" he warned.

"It's got to be better than Meryton!" retorted Harry. "Tell you what, George. I'll sell you my commission for half-price. You won't get a better deal than that.

Wickham grimaced. He had fifty pounds in his pocket, all that was left from his lucky streak in Dieppe. The rest had gone on his return voyage on the packet. But if things were as bad with Darcy as Mary claimed, he couldn't stay in London.

"What about fifty?" he said, placing his money on the table.

"No, not enough," said Harry dismissively.

"I might have some more in my carpetbag," Wickham temporised, knowing damned well he did not.

Taking a candle, he got up and tiptoed into the parlour where an ancient oak dresser stood. He knew old Mrs Danvers, Mrs Younge's mother, kept her ready in it somewhere and he began to search the end of it where he suspected some hidden drawer was concealed. It was not difficult to find, knowing it was there. It had no handle and the edges were concealed with decorative beading, but the front moved slightly when he slid his hand along it. Though he did not know the trick for opening it, he was apply to prise it open with his knife. The drawer contained a dirty leather purse bearing over fifty carefully polished gold guineas—likely her life's savings. George slipped them into his pocket, threw the purse back into the drawer and returned to the dining room.

"You're in luck!" he beamed as he returned to sit down. "I had pawned my fob and watch before I got lucky in Dieppe and had forgot completely about it!"

Wickham counted the fifty guineas out, carefully palming the three extra. "That make's one hundred!"

Harry grimaced. "I am tempted, but I think not."

Wickham pondered a moment. "What if I can get the additional twenty five before morning?" he offered. If things were as bad as Mary said, perhaps he could get her to pay him to go away...

"Done!" agreed Harry. "I leave at six. If you can get me the rest of the money before then, the commission and the uniform are yours!"

Denny complained again about being abandoned and pleaded with his friend to stay in the regiment.

"Don't worry, Denny," said Harry. "Wickham's a great gun! You won't be bored when he is around!"

* * *

As George expected, whatever went on between the sheets, Mary was keen to get rid of him before dawn and agreed to loan him twenty-five pounds to help him on his way. In the morning she dressed quickly and left her room to retrieve the money. For a moment, Wickham thought he might be undone when she discovered his theft of her mother's stash. But when Mary did not descend the stairs, he was relieved to find she kept her money hidden elsewhere.

George folded his arms behind his head as he waited, but when she returned to proffer him the money, he threw the covers off himself to press his lean naked body against her dress.

"Thank you, Mary," he said huskily as he removed the five pound notes from her grasp before giving her a kiss to remember.

Mrs Younge received his caresses slightly resentfully, reminding herself that George had helped her access jobs with a better class of people than she had worked for in the past. Even if the easy life he had promised her as his mistress once he was married to Georgiana Darcy hadn't worked out, she still had references that would allow her to return to work as a governess or companion in upper class households.

George did not bother to dress properly, merely throwing on enough clothes for propriety's sake if he should meet Mrs Danvers or one of the boarding house guests in the hallway.

Wickham gave Mary's hand one last squeeze. "I'll let you know if I hear of any jobs in Hertfordshire and will send you the twenty pounds when I can."

"Twenty-five," Mary reminded him, knowing she would never see the money again. "Make sure you go out the back door."

Wickham skipped stealthily downstairs with his carpet bag to knock on the door of Harry and Denny's room. He handed over his money and was soon being helped into his new uniform by Denny while Harry donned some civvies* he had about him. Harry's breeches and boots fitted George to a nicety, although the coat was a little wide across the shoulders and torso. They discussed their plans. Denny still had one day before he must return to Hertfordshire and Wickham immediately determined that he would find a seamstress who could take the coat in. First impressions were important and Wickham, as always, was determined to make a splash* in his new career.

They let themselves out the front door. Wickham almost had cause to regret it—coming along the street were two horsemen wearing the earl's livery. Wickham turned his back to them, walking backwards while laughing and gesticulating as he told Harry and Denny an anecdote. He tracked the sound of the horses' shoes striking the cobbles, dancing round his companions who were none the wiser as to the cause of his antics, keeping his back to the horsemen. He thought he was pretty safe with his uniform and moustache, but it wouldn't hurt to be cautious. Harry slapped Denny on the back when Wickham got to the punch line.

"See! I told you he was a great gun!"

Denny laughed and nodded, and the earl's men were gone.

* * *

Jane improved rapidly on Sunday—she was talking, eating, and although she still remained weak, everything promised she would soon be fully restored to health. Jane knew her sister longed to return home and felt herself to have trespassed upon the Bingley's hospitality too long. Lizzy did not wish to press her sister but realised that if Jane's period had come, hers would commence soon in sympathy, and she would much rather be in the comfort of her own home when it did.

In consequence, the sisters agreed that Lizzy should write to their mother in the afternoon, requesting the carriage for their return to Longbourn. As it was Sunday, no work could be done on the farm so they knew it would be available. Yet the carriage did not arrive. Instead a footman delivered a note from their mother saying she had made a special trip to Meryton to consult Mr Jones, who agreed that it might be fatal to move Jane too soon. Lizzy was furious. She had suspected her mother of keeping away after her initial visit so that Jane would be forced to stay at Netherfield longer, but to actually deny them the carriage when it was requested was taking scheming too far.

Thus Lizzy was forced to ask Caroline if the Bingley carriage might be available to them. After a long speech expressing solicitude for Jane's condition and, with hypocrisy oozing from every pore, regret at their going, Caroline offered its services.

The Bennet sisters were not welcomed home with much happiness by their mother. Lizzy was scolded in front of Mr Bingley's coachman and footman for disturbing her sister from her bed, which tirade was only cut short when Jane broke into a paroxysm of coughing in defence of Lizzy.

But after the debacle of their homecoming, Jane improved apace. Her illness was soon behind them as the next event of country living consumed the Bennets—there was rumoured to be a fox in the area. Several chickens had gone missing in the vicinity of Meryton. The tenants of Longbourn had not suffered any losses but their hens were disturbed on one or two occasions and they feared they would be next. Mr Bennet loaded the scattergun and set it on the sideboard in the hallway every night, should their own chicken coop be the scene of a raid.

"It is quite unusual for a fox to range so far," said Mr Bennet over his coffee one morning after Mr Hill reported the night's activities—more cackling but as yet no depredations. "But perhaps it is a vixen with cubs. They can be demanding to feed."

Mrs Bennet was the last to join the breakfast table, her maid Sarah having experienced inordinate difficulty in getting her mistress's curls to sit rightly under her lace cap that morning.

"I hope you might shoot her dead," Mrs Bennet said, having caught the end of Mr Bennet's information. "Then her cubs might starve and we will suffer fewer losses when they are grown up!"

"Indeed," said Mr Bennet. "They will have a difficult time growing up when they are dead."

He then retrieved a letter from his waistcoat pocket. "I fear I have been unable to discourage a raid of another sort, Mrs Bennet," he said laconically. "My cousin Mr Collins, who will inherit Longbourn once I am dead, begs to visit us."

"You must tell him to go away, Mr Bennet! We do not want him here! It is shockingly unfair that Longbourn should be entailed away from your own daughters to a nobody!"

"It is a most iniquitous affair," agreed Mr Bennet. "But his letter was most persuasive. Mr Collins studied for the church and recently gained a living in Kent as the rector of Hunsford. His patroness the Right Honourable Lady Catherine de Bourgh has encouraged him to find a wife in Hertfordshire. If I do not mistake his broad hints, he hopes to make amends to our fair daughters by matrimony."

"Oh!" said Mrs Bennet. "No doubt, being a lady, his patroness perceived the unfairness of the entail and encouraged him to do the right thing!"

"Perhaps," said Mr Bennet without much conviction, "though if I read correctly between the lines, he has been making a nuisance of himself to the well born young ladies of his parish. I presume he thinks he will find a less disinterested cohort here among his cousins."

"Well!" said Mrs Bennet. "If he should find one of my daughters to his liking, I will not be objecting."

"I did not think so," said Mr Bennet and getting up, he flung the letter into the centre of the table near the toast rack. "Let me give you the means to make an initial study of his character."

Mrs Bennet fielded the letter with surprising agility and began to peruse it with some interest, reading aloud those comments that particularly pleased her—'amiable daughters', 'heard much of their beauty' and 'every possible amends' were all exclaimed at.

Mary got up to read over her mother's shoulder while Jane and Elizabeth exchanged looks of alarm, trusting to the judgement of the young ladies of Mr Collins' parish. Only Kitty and Lydia were not affected; they were too fixated on redcoats for a man wearing any other colour to be of interest to them.

Mr Collins duly arrived and immediately proved himself to be as pompous and silly as his letter. Mary was truly disappointed, for she had held out great hopes based on the length of his letter and the number of long words it employed. In person, their cousin was as oily as his hair. He was neither ugly nor handsome but his ridiculous aspect was the overriding impression. He praised the house and the daughters, in that order, but mostly he praised his patroness Lady Catherine and her daughter, Miss Anne de Bourgh who, he told them, was without equal in all the country in gentility and beauty. The second time this encomium escaped his lips, Lydia muttered, 'Well, you should marry her, then!' and was kicked under the table by Lizzy. But Mr Collins' homage to Miss Anne continued throughout his stay without cessation.

On the first night of his visit Mr Collins offered to entertain the ladies by reading to them after dinner. A volume was passed to him by Kitty, but when he discovered it to be 'The Castle of Wolfenbach; or the Horrid Machinations of the Count Berniti' by Eliza Parsons, he cried out and instead retrieved a copy of Fordyce's sermons from his luggage, which he had with great foresight brought with him.

On the second day of Mr Collins' visit, the Bennets were gratified to receive a visit from Mr Bingley who had heard that Jane had fully recovered and thus could receive him. Mr Bingley was reluctantly accompanied by his sisters and Mr Hurst, the latter having only exerted himself on the prospect of more pie. Mr Bingley was very assiduous in his attentions to Jane during his visit, which later gave Mrs Bennet the opening to hint Mr Collins away from her eldest. As to the others, Mrs Bennet assured him, they were all as free as birds.

On his leave-taking, Mr Bingley produced a card and with great ceremony presented it to Mrs Bennet, inviting her family to the Netherfield ball which had been fixed for a week hence. As Mr Collins would still be in Hertfordshire at that date he was included in the invitation, much to his gratification.

That evening there was another disturbance in the henhouse.

Lizzy, having been plagued by her cousin's attentions throughout dinner, was lying awake beside her sleeping sister when she heard the ruckus. Knowing her father to be a sound sleeper, Elizabeth pulled on her dressing gown to knock on her father's bedchamber door. But instead, Mr Collins emerged from the guest chamber next door wearing a grubby bed cap and gown.

"Is there a problem?" he whispered.

"Merely a fox may have got into the henhouse," Lizzy whispered back before proceeding directly downstairs, hoping her cousin would again retire.

No such luck. After retrieving his slippers, Mr Collins padded downstairs after her. Lizzy had picked up the fowling piece and was unbolting the front door. She had accompanied her father shooting often, occasionally taking her turn with the gun, but more often retrieving the birds from the dogs and bagging them. She felt a little nervous about handling the gun in the dark and so close to the house, so when she found her cousin had followed her, she offered it first to him.

Mr Collins put up his hands in alarm. "I do not shoot, Miss Elizabeth," he hissed. "Indeed, as a man of the cloth, I prefer gardening and beekeeping."

Lizzy looked at her cousin contemptuously for a moment before deciding philosophically it was just what she should have expected of him. She shouldered the gun and stepped out onto the portico with bare feet. The henhouse was off towards the stables, not far from the kitchens. Lizzy trod carefully over the few feet of gravel drive that she needed to traverse in order to reach the grass and began to stalk her prey. All was quiet in the henhouse until suddenly another burst of cackling broke out and Lizzy thought she saw a movement in the shadows. In her excitement she unleashed both barrels simultaneously and the stock flew backwards painfully into her shoulder. The report caused all hell to break forth among the hens but amidst the tumult Lizzy could have sworn that she heard the word 'damn' unleashed.

She inspected the henhouse; could find no breach, nor any carcasses and decided to delay any further investigations until morning. Pressing her aching shoulder, she made her way back to the house where she found Mr Collins cowering in the hallway.

"Did you get it?" he asked in trembling tones.

"No. Perhaps it is not a fox, but poachers. Whatever, the hens appear fine and I hope I have frightened the intruder off."

After she laid the gun back down on the sideboard, Mr Collins solicitously asked if he might assist her up the stairs. Lizzy looked at him with bemusement, shook her head, and ran ahead of him before he could importune her further.

Lizzy found Jane sitting up in bed, obviously woken by the gun's report. After explaining her adventure they settled down together. Despite her injured shoulder Lizzy was finally able to fall asleep.

Lizzy went out early to the henhouse for a more thorough reconnoiter before breakfast. She opened the door of the coop to allow the chickens to wander the yard and checked for eggs, finding only one—no doubt the hens would not lay for several days because of their fright. Emerging from the henhouse she cast about outside, noticing some trampled grass that was more consistent with the intruder being a poacher than a fox. That was when she noticed the piece of black fabric.

Picking it up, Elizabeth discovered it to be a handkerchief, damp with dew. It was only when she noticed the stains on the grass underneath that she realised her mistake. Opening her hand, she saw what the black fabric had disguised—her hand was stained with blood.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*couldn't lie straight in his bed - crooked, a liar.

*civvies - civilian clothes

*make a splash - become noticed or become popular 1804


	14. Under his skin

**Thanks** **for reminding me to explain 'have a hide', _LotsOfLaundry_. It means to have a thick skin, nerve, chutzpah, shameless audacity.**

 **Suggestions for the title of chapter 13 were:**

 **"Gun's and Chooks" by _JAFan95_ ,**

 **"Sly as a Fox" by _Chica De Los Ojas Café_ ,**

 **"Game of chicken" or "The plot thickens" by _Phyloxena_**

 **"Like a Fox on the Run" by _Deanna27_ ,**

 **"Thief in the Night"; "A Shot in the Dark"; "Unwelcome Lodgers (or Visitors or Callers)" by _Lauramari_ ,**

 **"Fox alert" By _Laure SaintYves_ ,**

 **"That Was No Fox in The Hen House" by _DizzyLizzy60_ ,**

 **"An iniquitous affair", "A Vixen with a gun, (and knows how to use it)" Or "Locked, cocked and already shot" by _Christinebj_ ,**

 **"Of vices, vixens and visits" by _Ansujali_ ,**

 **"Sticky Fingers" by _austen16_ ,**

 **"Hide" and "So Sore" by _LotsOfLaundry_ ,**

 **"The great escapes" or "The fool marches in" by _anita1788_.**

 **Ooh, so difficult! So many good ones! I really like the double meanings of the fox theme. Loved for "For fox sake" :) I think my three favourites are "Sly as a fox" by _Chica De Los Ojas Café,_ "Fox on the run" by _Deanna27_ and "Sticky Fingers", another double meaning, by _austen16_.**

 **I think I'll go with, "Fox on the run" by _Deanna27_.**

* * *

 **Chapter 14** **Under his skin**

"Sir, do you really think it was wise to go to Longbourn?" asked Finn as he plucked the lead pellets from his master's flesh with tweezers.

Once he had ascertained the master was not seriously wounded, Finn had peeled off Darcy's coat, which would never be the same. Darcy's waistcoat and shirt were clearly ruined, pierced by a hundred holes and soaked with blood, so Finn had cut them off with scissors, carefully prising off the last remnants stuck to Darcy's chest with blood. He had laid clean rags over the raw wounds on Darcy's chest, which he could hardly bear to lay eyes on, and set to work, one section at a time, to remove the tiny pellets.

"I am worried that I have turned her," protested Darcy. "I fed first as a precaution before going to Longbourn. But of course I needed to feed again on the way back once she shot me," he added, explaining why he had only just made it back before dawn.

Darcy had not been sorry when Miss Elizabeth Bennet had departed Netherfield. It was certainly not comfortable sleeping chained to a bed. But as soon as she was gone, he could not stop thinking about her constantly. What if he had transformed her? She would likely kill all her family before he could do a thing about it if he did not monitor her carefully.

After slaking his thirst and running three miles to Longbourn on the previous night, Darcy had arrived at the manor house long after the family had retired. He had thus been disappointed in his hope of getting a glimpse of Miss Elizabeth, which, he had assured himself, was the sole purpose of his visit. A dim light, likely from a single candle, had illuminated an upper window when he arrived there; but whether it belonged to Miss Elizabeth's bedchamber, Darcy had no way of knowing, never having visited with the Bingleys and being unfamiliar with the layout of the house. As he stood silently near the henhouse, the light was extinguished and he found himself alone in the shadow of an oak with only the chickens for company. It was then he had the idea of trying to call her and he set to whispering, 'Elizabeth, Elizabeth, come to the window'.

For a while Darcy thought that all he had done was to disturb the chickens. First they clucked and then they cackled before breaking into quite a ruckus. Perhaps they thought he was a snake. He tried to settle them in a more normal voice, calling softly, 'Chook, chook, chook!' as he had heard the servants do to calm them as they gathered the eggs. That seemed to be partly successful.

Darcy was about to give up and run home when he a saw a light appear in another upper window. He waited, wondering if his whispering had been successful. The chickens seemed to get nervous again, occasionally unleashing a cackle. After several minutes, he heard the bolt of the front door drawn, and who should emerge but Elizabeth herself. She trod gingerly across the drive, her pale face and gown transfixing his attention. His teeth ached. He had not meant to draw her out, only to bring her to the window so that he might catch a glimpse of her. He wondered if he should turn and run to keep his distance from her, but his legs would not budge. It was only when she crouched slightly and began to move stealthily towards him that Darcy realised she was holding a gun. Good Lord! She was stalking him! The table had turned!*

He took a step backwards, trod on something and was immediately hit in the back. He overbalanced, saw her lift the gun, heard the report and found himself staggering backwards when the shot hit him like a swarm of angry bees. Darcy tripped and fell to his knees. A swear word escaped his lips.

Elizabeth had stopped to set the stock on the ground; was leaning on the barrel of the gun. He heard her utter 'ow!' under her breath; saw her rub her shoulder. In the shadows, Darcy cast about with his hands to find the object he had stumbled over before he tripped again. It was a rake. No doubt he had stood on the cast iron end and hit himself with the handle. How careless of the servants to have left it lying around! He pushed it against the outer wall of the henhouse to get it out of the way.

Darcy thought at first that the shotgun pellets had not pierced his clothes. His chest felt diffusely hot, as if he had been struck with a whip several times over, but he could not call it pain. It was only when he rose on his knees that he felt a warm trickle at the waist of his breeches, which might have been sweat, though it was not a hot night. He pulled his black silk handkerchief from his breeches' pocket to lift his shirt, dabbed at it and put the cloth to his lips—blood.

A sound made him turn back towards Elizabeth. She had picked up the gun in both hands like a quarterstaff and was making her way towards him. Shoving the handkerchief back into his pocket, he took his bearings and fled behind the henhouse. The chickens squawked, cackled and fluttered about clumsily. Darcy made it to the stables and merged into the shadows. He could hear Elizabeth talking to the chickens, soothing them; one of them was named Henny Penny*—no doubt she thought the sky was falling! he thought ironically.

After a while he saw Elizabeth emerge from the henhouse to return to the house. Darcy could feel blood pooling in his navel and spilling down onto the skin below every time he breathed. He reached again for his handkerchief. It was gone. Another problem! He walked back towards the henhouse, scanning the grass for it, but once he reached the shadows under the tree where he had last used it, it was impossible to see. It was as black as the ace of spades. He dared not use the matches in his coat pocket to light the candle stub he carried around lest someone from the house be still watching the henhouse. The handkerchief was not initialled; he supposed he would just have to leave it.

Darcy was brought back from his reverie when Finn poked him in a sensitive spot with the tweezers.

"Leave off, Finn! The sun is shining brightly outside! I am sleepy!"

"I have plucked all the pellets from the surface, sir, but there are more in deeper. I will need to use the scalpel."

"Stop prodding me! You can have another go once I have slept!"

"I do not think that is wise, sir. What if the wounds should heal over? How will I find the pellets? It cannot be good to have the lead in your body."

"Sleep!" said Darcy through gritted teeth.

Finn sighed and started to gather the detritus on a tray: the tweezers, a crucible full of gory lead shot, bloody rags. Darcy sat up and allowed his valet to wind a long linen bandage around his chest, which only partially covered the mess.

"I will be too hot," Darcy remarked grumpily when Finn picked up a second roll of linen. "Just give me my nightshirt."

Darcy grunted in pain as he reached his arms forward to allow Finn to pull the nightshirt over his head. He lay back gingerly and pulled the sheet over himself.

"Thank you, Finn. You can have another go when I wake."

Finn nodded. After tugging at the curtain to block more of the sun's light, he picked up the tray and deposited it in the dressing room before disappearing behind a large screen in the adjoining sitting room, which he had turned into his own little sleeping area. Despite its small size, it was quite palatial. Mrs Nicholls had made the mistake of teasing Finn about 'sleeping on the sofa', which he could not let pass, so he had sent immediately to his friend in London for materials. Finn had modelled the resulting structure on the Emperor Napoleon's campaign tent. Darcy had just laughed when he had seen it and remarked that he hoped that Finn was comfortable. Finn knew that Darcy felt a little guilty about depriving him of his own room, but cohabitation seemed the simplest solution in view of Darcy's nocturnal wanderings—especially, thought Finn, after tonight's event.

Finn woke at eleven when he heard his master using the chamberpot. He rang for some hot water, stoked the fire and prepared a new tray to tend Darcy's wounds. Darcy pulled off his nightshirt, which Finn had expected to be stained with blood or stuck to Darcy's skin, without assistance. No blood had come through the bandage. When Finn unwound it, they were both surprised when dozens of tiny lead pellets rained down on the sheets. Finn looked at Darcy's chest. As he had expected, the skin was healed over, fresh and pink.

"My flesh seems to have pushed them out during the night," observed Darcy, picking up one of the pellets that caught his eye and examining it.

"Yes," agreed Finn with astonishment, setting the bloody bandage aside.

A closer inspection revealed a lump near Darcy's left nipple. When Finn touched it, Darcy flinched.

"Ouch!"

"I think there are still some pellets under the skin," observed Finn, picking up the scalpel.

"Oh, no!" said Darcy, jumping out the other side of the bed. "I would like breakfast, please. It looks like it has clouded over, so perhaps I will take it downstairs with the Bingleys."

Finn sighed and after laying out his Darcy's clothes, prepared to shave his master.

But once Finn buttoned up Darcy's waistcoat, the material pressed upon the lump near Darcy's nipple like a blind pimple, irritating him every time he moved. He allowed Finn to break the skin over the lump with the scalpel. A pellet immediately popped out as if it had been spat, causing them to exchange a glance.

"I wonder how many more of them are inside?" asked Darcy philosophically as he held a rag against his chest to clot the wound before re-donning his shirt.

"Did Miss Elizabeth see you before she shot you, sir?" asked Finn, less concerned now about Darcy's wounds and beginning to cast his worries further afield.

"No. It was very dark where I was standing. I believe she thought I was a fox. It was stupid to have stood beside the henhouse. I shall keep away from it in future."

"You are not going back, sir? After this?"

"Of course! You know my reason for going there in the first place. I must check on her!"

Finn almost rolled his eyes before remembering something. "Well, you will not find her there tonight, sir. The Lucases are having another soirée and the Bennet ladies never turn down an invitation."

"You seem very sure," remarked Darcy.

"I heard it from Miss Bingley," said Finn with a twinkle in his eye and raking the air with the fingers of his left hand like a cat's claws. "Are you wishing to attend?"

"Of course, Finn. I must go."

"Very well, sir," said Finn slyly. "I shall inform, Miss Bingley. She will be very pleased."

* * *

Towards the evening the Bennets were making their preparations for the soirée. Lydia had rushed into Jane and Lizzy's room to get her opinion on a ribbon.

"Which colour do you think looks best with this pomona green dress?" she asked her sisters,"the coquelicot* or the jonquil*?"

"Definitely, the coquelicot," said Lizzy.

"I like the jonquil," said Jane.

"The coquelicot it is!" crowed Lydia who had merely wanted someone to second her own opinion after Kitty had thrown doubt on her choice. She hesitated as she viewed the dowdy gown on the hanger in Lizzy's hands. "You are not wearing that, are you?"

"I believe so," said Lizzy, thinking nothing would be too much to divert her cousin's attentions to Mary, who saw nothing particularly objectionable in Mr Collins.

"You will regret it if you do!" said Lydia. "There is a new officer in the regiment and he is ever so handsome! Kitty and I saw him in town today! He returned from London with Denny!"

Lizzy merely shook her head and smiled before proceeding to take the dress off the hanger as Lydia ran off. Once she had undone the bib of her day gown she had another colour to show Jane—her shoulder was black and blue.*

"Oh, Lizzy!" cried Jane. "Did that happen last night? You did not tell me you were injured! What happened?"

"It is nothing but my own fault, Jane. In my excitement I pulled both triggers at once and the stock hit my shoulder."

"Dear, dear!" clucked Jane. "We should have put arnica on it before you lay down to sleep."

"It would have been wise," agreed Lizzy, "but I did not wish to disturb you and I had no idea it was so bad. It is a pretty colour, isn't it?"

Sometime later, as the Bennet sisters assembled in the vestibule, they were surprised to see their father descend the stairs in his evening clothes.

"Papa, are you coming with us? Have you finally read all the books in your library?" joked Lydia.

"I can always buy some more, my dear," Mr Bennet assured her. "But I thought tonight might be particularly entertaining."

Just then, Mr Collins hurried down the stairs. "Forgive me! Forgive me! I was writing a letter to Lady Catherine of my progress and did not notice the time!"

"Very entertaining!" added Mr Bennet as he caught Lizzy's eye.

Elizabeth did not care for her father's idea of entertainment if he thought there was amusement to be had in watching Mr Collins pay clumsy compliments to his daughters.

"Do not worry," Mary reassured her cousin. "We are still waiting for Mama. Sarah cannot get her turban to sit right."

The Bennet coach pulled up outside and still they were waiting. Mr Collins smiled and simpered at his cousins.

"May I say, Miss Elizabeth, how charming you look tonight. The modesty of your gown speaks very well of your principles!"

Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably and stole a glance at Jane. It seemed she had hidden her light under a bushel* for no good reason.

Despite their mother's tardiness, the Bennets arrived at Lucas Lodge in good time. Charlotte hurried to the vestibule with her father to greet them. When the first effusions of Sir William's greetings had passed away and the others had been ushered into the parlour, Lizzy lingered with her friend as she divested herself of her cloak. Charlotte raised one eyebrow as Lizzy's garb was revealed before handing the garment to a servant.

"Don't say a word," murmured Lizzy. "I would also have worn my boots had not Jane dissuaded me, and it is all for nought. Mr Collins praised me for my propriety."

Charlotte stifled a smile as they moved to a more private spot in the vestibule. "Surely it would not be so bad if he asked you to marry him, Lizzy? You would be able to return to Longbourn once your father died. Would it not be worth it?"

"I would rather not leave in the first place," retorted Lizzy, "and in such company!"

"He does not seem so bad to me," said Charlotte. "Admittedly he is not handsome, but nor is he ugly."

"It is his manner that is the most unbearable."

Charlotte shrugged her shoulders. "I dare say he would be busy with Lady Catherine and his parish most of the day and you would only have to put up with him at night."

Lizzy stared at her friend. "That," she said solemnly, "is what chiefly worries me."

Charlotte blushed and stifled a giggle. She grasped Lizzy's hand as they walked towards the parlour. "Did you hear there is a new officer in the regiment?" she whispered.

"With Lydia around? How could I not? So tell me, is he as handsome as Lydia claims?"

"I have not seen him myself but Mariah seemed to think he is very fine. He has not arrived yet. Some of the officers were late at target practise and went to the Red Lion to dine, but Colonel Forster is here with his new wife. She is very young—not much older than Mariah! Shall I introduce you?"

"By all means!" replied Lizzy and Charlotte led her to the group containing the happy couple.

Mrs Forster was indeed very young but she looked constantly at her husband with admiration. He seemed less stern than usual when he smiled back at her.

It was not long before another carriage was heard to draw up and Sir William hurried to greet the new arrivals. Excepting for Jane, the young ladies were all disappointed to discover it was only the Bingleys. As Mr Hurst was married, Mr Bingley was taken, and Mr Darcy had indicated he wanted nothing to do with anyone, they could not be of interest. Only Sir William gave the Netherfield party the attention he thought they deserved, being especially gratified that Mr Darcy had deigned to accompany them.

Mr Darcy was, of course, dressed entirely in black, which was the only garb that most of those present had ever seen him wear. Only Elizabeth and members of his own party had ever seen him in the more typical English gentleman's dress that he wore during the day. His clothes were very fine, though it was hard to appreciate them in all their inky blackness. He certainly made an interesting contrast to the gaudy silks of the Bingley sisters and Mr Hurst. If one excluded Mr Bingley, thought Elizabeth, who was the only 'normal' one among them, they looked like they had had an accident with a paintbox.

Once the dignitaries had arrived, Sir William encouraged his daughter Mariah to the pianoforte and then began to ensure that everyone had a drink. After Charlotte excused herself momentarily to distribute sandwiches, Elizabeth happened to catch Mr Darcy steal a glance at her and felt a pang of regret for her garb, before deciding she disliked him too much to care for his opinion. She tried to appear focused on Mariah's playing but found herself taking surreptitious peaks at Mr Darcy every time she raised her glass to her lips. He accepted the glass of wine that was pressed upon him by Sir William and then sank back into a dark corner where Elizabeth was surprised to see him take a swig from a hip flask extracted from his coat pocket. She was immediately reminded of his nocturnal excursions. His habits seemed very bad!

Elizabeth turned her attention back to Mariah's performance and then was startled at the end of it when she found Mr Darcy beside her.

"Good evening, Miss Elizabeth."

"Good evening, Mr Darcy."

"I regret our conversation on alchemy was terminated so abruptly at Netherfield."

Elizabeth thought this very strange. There had been plenty of opportunities at Netherfield for Mr Darcy to have continued their conversation if he had not been so pointedly ignoring her.

She resisted the temptation to raise her eyebrows, saying only, "I do not think there is much more I could add on the topic. It is my father who is the expert."

"You seemed to imply that he knew something of the Muslim alchemists."

"Indeed, he was a scholar of Arabic at Oxford before he inherited Longbourn, considered the best in England by his peers. He spent many years translating Arabic texts on alchemy into English at the request of a patron. It was believed there were many mistakes in the original translations into Latin and my father's patron hoped to make progress in his own studies by going back to the original sources."

"And did your father find many errors?"

"Indeed, Papa says the texts were littered with them, but even he could not say with certainty that his new translation was definitive. He came to believe that only by doing the actual experiments would certain ambiguities ever be resolved. He had hoped he might collaborate with his patron, who was a practitioner, to produce a definitive text, but in the end his translations were never published."

"Why was that?"

"His move to Longbourn was the chief problem. He had hoped to continue working on the texts after unexpectedly inheriting Longbourn on his brother's untimely death, but his patron was impatient for further progress and transferred the texts to another scholar. That was over twenty years ago. The translations have never been published."

"Who was your father's patron?"

Elizabeth lowered her voice. "Papa does not like to speak of it, but it was Lord Pevensey."

Darcy's mouth opened in surprise. He was on the verge of protesting that Lord Pevensey was a respected member of the Royal Society when he realised he was about to commit the same faux pas as in their original conversation on the same topic. He clamped his mouth shut.

At that moment Mary took her place at the pianoforte and, during the general rearrangement of people in room, one of the younger officers, Mr Chamberlayne, stepped backwards into Elizabeth and knocked her glass. Elizabeth grimaced when some of her punch slopped onto her dress but, given it was not her best, was quite philosophical about it. In a flash, Mr Darcy had offered his handkerchief. Elizabeth stared at it for a moment before accepting it—for it was black silk. Of course!

"You haven't lost one of these recently, have you?" she asked airily.

Darcy immediately realised his mistake. "Why, yes. I believe I misplaced one in Meryton the other day," he said, unable to meet her eyes. "At least, that was the last place I could remember using it. Has it come your way?"

Whatever, Elizabeth was about to reply, she completely forgot, for during their conversation another carriage had arrived. From the way Lydia had peered out the window and then bounced up and down, Elizabeth could only surmise that the late-coming officers had arrived. As they walked in the door, Elizabeth could see that the new officer who had replaced Lieutenant Winston was indeed very handsome. He beamed at the room in general and shook the hand of Sir William.

"Oh, look!" said Mrs Foster behind them. "It is Lieutenant Wickham and Mr Denny!"

At that moment, Mr Darcy's head snapped round to the newcomer and the smile seemed to drain from Lieutenant Wickham's face. In her privileged position standing next to Mr Darcy, Elizabeth saw his face turn red while Lieutenant Wickham's face turned paper white. Their eyes were locked together as if in some silent battle and, for a moment, Elizabeth had the uncanny feeling that the two gentleman were the only two people in the room. What could be the meaning of it? It was impossible to imagine; it was impossible not to long to know.

Lieutenant Wickham was the first to break eye contact, turning to Sir William who was still addressing him, shaking his head and then laughingly making some joke.

Elizabeth tore her attention away from the newcomer, but before she could return his handkerchief, Mr Darcy had bid her a crisp goodbye and left her side.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*When the tables are turned, one's position relative to someone else is reversed. It originated with the playing of board games in the 17th century, according to the Oxford English Dictionary. In its literal meaning, the phrase referred "to the position of the board in a board game being reversed, hence reversing the situation of each player in the game. According to the OED, the expression first appeared in writing in The Widdowes Teares, a 1612 comedy by the poet and playwright George Chapman: "You doe well Sir to take your pleasure of me, (I may turne tables with you ere long)."

*Henny Penny is called Chicken Little, Chicken Licken (US) and Kylling Kluk (Danish) in other versions of the folk tale.

*The coquelicot or the jonquil: coquelicot—poppy red, jonquil—yellow like the flower. See Pinterest board for images. Even very ignorant ladies like Kitty and Lydia had an amazing colour vocabulary with many of the names taken from the French, the epicentre of European fashion.

*to hide one's light under a bushel. To hide one's talents.


	15. The fine art of fibs

**Thanks** _ **Windchimed**_ **, I changed the spelling of the younger Lucas sister's name to Mariah to make it more phonetic. Although Austen wrote the name Maria, it would not have been pronounced as per the Spanish name.**

 **Suggestions for the title of Chapter 14 were:**

 **"Under his skin" by _Deanna27_ ,**

 **"Dressed Not To Impress" and "Black Hankie Collection" by _LotsOfLaundry_ ,**

 **"A rake among chickens" or "A rake can hide another" by _Laure SaintYves,_**

 **"A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing" by _Chica de Los Ojas Cafe,_**

 **"Bad Blood, Worse Impressions" by _Clara84_ ,**

 **"A Black Day" by _Windchimed_ ,**

 **"Beware the Rakes" by _Sacredwoman2K_ ,**

 **"The Same Faux Pas" by _Dizzy Lizzy60_.**

 **Again, so many good ones. I liked the the rake theme, LSY and S2K, and thought of "A tale of two rakes". But again, the double meaning of "under his skin" was superb, _Deanna27_.**

* * *

 **Chapter 15**

The shock of Wickham's encountering the man he had so recently almost killed was only momentary. As soon as it became obvious that Darcy was not going to challenge him, George quickly regained his sangfroid. Sir William, always keen to gain favour with any gentleman, immediately appreciated Wickham's good breeding by his immaculately fitted uniform and proceeded to welcome him heartily to Meryton. After five minutes of this superior treatment, Wickham was in a good way to thinking that he had no reason to be embarrassed, nothing to answer for—the fault was all on Darcy's side. Why! Here he had been, fleeing the country to escape the earl's men, when Darcy was attending soirées in Hertfordshire... if that didn't beat the Dutch!

Darcy meanwhile had retreated to the Lucases' terrace to regain his equanimity. The very sight of Wickham had recalled that sickening moment when, having reached the window of George's accommodations in London, Darcy had glimpsed George fending off a partially unclad Georgiana as she tried to deflect the pistol in George's hand. Darcy's last coherent memory was of George brutally thrusting Georgiana to the ground. Everything after that was fragmented. Suddenly he had been inside the room. There was no memory of opening the glass or stepping across the sill—just Georgie collapsed in a heap and a look of terror on George's face. Then pain.

But seeing George once more had dredged up another memory: a very primal instinct to fly at Wickham and rip out his throat, which had threatened to overwhelm Darcy again in the Lucases' parlour. Darcy had forced the blood from his face, managed to say something to Elizabeth, though he could not remember what, before walking woodenly from the room. Only when he found himself on the terrace did Darcy begin to think cogently again. Suddenly he began to shake all over. He knew it was shock, perhaps some delayed reaction to that mortal encounter with Wickham when he had raced to his sister's aid. Then Darcy acknowledged the bitter truth—he had almost lost control in a room full of people. The shaking was the cost of the exertion to override that instinct. He shuddered to think of the carnage that might have resulted. Darcy heard the door open behind him and quickly pulled himself together.

"This is damned flat, isn't it? Do you have another of those cigarillos?"

It was Hurst.

"I did not realise that you smoked," said Darcy as smoothly as he could manage, extracting the sole cigarillo he kept in his pocket and handing it to Hurst.

"Don't tell Louisa," confided Hurst and then looked at him expectantly.

Darcy stared back.

"A light?" prompted Hurst.

"Forgive me," said Darcy, coming to his senses. "I was thinking about something else."

He pulled the tin from his coat pocket to unscrew the lid. Holding his hand stiffly so that it did not shake, Darcy removed one of the matches then unthinkingly crushed the tiny glass bulb of sulfuric acid with his fingers so that it sprang to light. He held the burning matchstick out to light Hurst's cigarillo and then stubbed it out on the brickwork of the terrace.

"Is that one of those newfangled sugar matches?" asked Hurst, walking forward to the balustrade.

Behind Hurst, Darcy looked at the blister on his finger, realising he had not felt a thing.

"Is there some knack to crushing them to avoid burning oneself?" asked Hurst, expelling a long stream of smoke and turning back to Darcy to hear his answer.

He was gone.

* * *

Having ignored her sister's advice and worn the dowdy gown to the soirée, Elizabeth had no hopes of meriting some of the handsome Lieutenant Wickham's attention. She bore it as philosophically as she could, which was not very, for as soon as Mr Darcy had gone off, Mr Collins had attached himself to her in a very proprietary way. Thus when Charlotte asked her to sing,

Lizzy did not demur as she might normally have done, but welcomed the opportunity to get away from her cousin.

Charlotte sat down at the keyboard and, choosing a piece that she knew would suit her friend's voice, began the performance. Having a sweet voice and the benefit of the occasional master, Lizzy did credit to the song. Towards the end, she was a little disconcerted to find her cousin watching her with his hands clasped in front of him and such a look of smugness on his face, that she immediately regretted having performed so well. She finished and everyone clapped politely, except Mr Collins who did so enthusiastically, beaming at those around him as if he had just won a grand sum at cards. At the first movement of the crowd, he hurried towards her and Lizzy, unable to think of a polite means of escape, was about to give in to the despair of his company, when Charlotte stepped between them.

"Mr Collins, could I show you the chimney piece? My father is quite proud of it but I heard you say that Lady Catherine has a very superior one at Rosings and I wondered if ours at all compared?"

The distraction answered wonderfully. Mr Collins began one of his long speeches as he walked off with Miss Lucas, extolling the wonders of Rosings and how fortunate he was to be singled out to serve the de Bourghs. Elizabeth circulated away from him, receiving the congratulations of a few well-wishers and gravitating towards her sister and Bingley who occupied a corner of the room. But Bingley was talking so animatedly and Jane replying with such happy smiles that it occurred to Elizabeth that it might be better to leave them alone when she found herself approached by Lieutenant Wickham and Lydia.

"This is Lieutenant George Wickham, Lizzy. He asked for an introduction. Lieutenant Wickham, my second eldest sister, Elizabeth."

Lieutenant Wickham bowed graciously over Elizabeth's hand.

"Come on, Lydia!" yelled Kitty from the other side of the room. "Denny wants to dance with you!"

Mary had sat down at the piano and began to play a reel.

"Will you dance?" asked the Lieutenant, offering his glove.

"Thank you, no," said Elizabeth who could already see her two youngest sisters getting embarrassingly raucous. She tried to catch Mary's eye so that her sister would play something more genteel next. But to her depressing hand motions Mary just cocked a quizzical eye. What was it about her middle sister that did not allow her to understand hand signals?

Elizabeth turned to find Lieutenant Wickham smiling at her. "Please do not let me stop you from enjoying yourself," she told him.

"They never understand when you need them to, do they?" he observed sympathetically. "I have no particular desire to dance. Perhaps we could sit down upon the settee?" he suggested, gesturing towards a piece of furniture with its back against a wall where he could view the rest of the room.

Elizabeth was highly gratified to be thus singled out by the handsome officer despite her garb.

"Your sister told me of your sartorial sacrifice," added Wickham confidentially, as if he could read her mind. "I applaud your stratagem. Your cousin is certainly a singular fellow."

Elizabeth blushed as she sat down. It was highly improper for Lydia to have told a complete stranger about Lizzy's wish to evade her cousin, although this gentleman was obviously not a complete stranger to Mr Darcy.

As Wickham sat a polite distance from her on the squabs, Elizabeth was all too aware that it was a very short sofa, almost a love seat.

"I saw you talking to Mr Darcy earlier," said Wickham, again with remarkable percipience. "I dare say you wondered at his reaction to my advent?"

Elizabeth blushed again and hardly knew what to say.

"Did he, perhaps, say anything to you?" asked Lieutenant Wickham, who was keeping an eye on the door through which Darcy had disappeared.

"To me?" repeated Elizabeth in surprise, completely failing to appreciate the audacity of the lieutenant's enquiry in view of its content. "Why, I hardly know him! He has been in Hertfordshire for several weeks now, but he rarely talks to anyone outside his own party.

"That sounds like Darcy—ever high in the instep," laughed Wickham.

"He was asking about my father," added Elizabeth, "who was a scholar at Oxford."

"Again, very in character. Darcy is a member of the Royal Society."

"Is he?" asked Elizabeth with some interest. "Do you know him well then?"

"Know him well? We grew up together—inmates of the same house, subject to the same parental care. We were like brothers. My father was a highly esteemed attorney who gave it all up to be of use to the late Mr Darcy and devoted all his time to the care of the Pemberley property and other Darcy business interests in Derbyshire. He was most highly esteemed by old Mr Darcy, a most intimate, confidential friend. I was Mr Darcy's godson and when my father died prematurely, I was raised in the Darcy household."

He paused to note the effect of this pronouncement on Elizabeth before proceeding. "You are no doubt wondering the reason for our estrangement?"

Elizabeth could only shrug slightly and open her mouth to disclaim. She longed to know the story but it seemed indelicate to be too eager to hear it.

"Unfortunately, old Mr Darcy's solicitude for me—for I was a favourite with him—only excited his son's jealousy. Too used to being the one and only, the one designated to receive everything by inheritance, he could not bear the competition. I was off at university when old Mr Darcy died and though he provided for me in his will, his son has worked steadily to ensure every privilege that that had previously been extended towards me was taken away. I am no longer welcome in my childhood home. All my study towards my career was for nought—for I was intended for the church; but when the living eventually came up, it was given elsewhere, and you see now I am forced to earn my living as I may."

"But this is terrible!" exclaimed Elizabeth. "Have you no recourse with the law?"

"Unfortunately," sighed Mr Wickham, "there was sufficient ambiguity in the will to give me no legal redress. Had my father been alive when it was drafted, I am sure no such mistake would have been made. But the man who replaced him was a paltry fellow of not half my father's worth."

"So have you never been back to Pemberley since your godfather died?"

"No. I am not welcome there. I last saw it at his funeral. But I happened to meet Darcy's sister again in Ramsgate recently and we fell in love. Miss Darcy was always fond of me as a child and I devoted hours to her amusement whenever I was home from school. I did not think that her brother could hate me so much as to deny his sister happiness when she found it, but such is his temperament. We were forced to elope. But it all came to nothing. He caught up with us. I begged him to think of his sister, but no, his pride came first. Possibly he wants her to marry a duke! I have not seen her for months. I was still holding out a slim hope that he would relent once he became convinced of her steadfast affection, but his reaction towards me tonight suggests he remains inflexible."

Elizabeth was very shocked. She had believed elopements only occurred in novels, or were the resort of tradesmen's daughters. She thought it very wrong of Lieutenant Wickham to have been involved in such. But then Elizabeth's mind diverted to poor Miss Darcy who would likely be forced to marry a wheezing old duke instead of the handsome young man sitting beside her. No doubt, Miss Darcy had begged Mr Wickham to save her. Elizabeth could not help but feel sympathy for the lady in the light of her own situation.

'He is very proud' was all she could think to say, still mindful of Mr Darcy's behaviour at the assembly.

"Yes," said Wickham. "His mother was the daughter of an earl. Old Mr Darcy used to make judgements on a gentleman's worth based on merit, but I am afraid his son is more like his mother—the Fitzwilliams have ever been a proud and haughty lot."

"Mr Darcy's mother was the daughter of an earl?" repeated Elizabeth in amazement, not having had any idea of his noble connections.

"Indeed, and Lady Catherine, the lady your cousin serves, is her sister."

"Lady Catherine is Mr Darcy's aunt?" repeated Elizabeth, having difficulty keeping up with the revelations.

"What is that you say, Cousin Elizabeth? "a voice interrupted them. "Did I hear you say that Mr Darcy is related to Lady Catherine?"

Elizabeth turned to discover that her cousin had crept up on them as they spoke, no doubt to enforce what he believed to be his superior claims on her.

"Indeed," replied Wickham. "The eighth Earl of Matlock had three children—Lady Catherine is the eldest. She married Sir Lewis de Bourgh, a rich banker. Lady Anne, the second daughter, who was considered the more beautiful of the two, did even better—Mr Darcy's wealth equalled that of Sir Lewis and he had the added benefit of a noble Norman lineage, despite his lack of title. The current earl is the youngest of the eighth earl's children."

Lieutenant Wickham's information worked like a charm. Before he could say anything more on the topic, Mr Collins began to look about the room for Mr Darcy so that he might introduce himself and thus make another powerful connection. Happily, Elizabeth was able to return to her tête-à-tête with the handsome officer. She found him smiling at her with understanding.

"It is not pleasant to find yourself the object of unwanted attention, is it?" he commented.

Elizabeth could well imagine that Lieutenant Wickham frequently found himself in such difficulties.

"I assure you," she laughed, "I do not often experience it. Why, not three weeks ago at the Assembly, Mr Darcy said 'I was not handsome enough to tempt him'!"

Wickham raised his eyebrows. "How ungallant of him! And what a strange turn of phrase!"

"Yes. He made me feel like a beefsteak, served up for his delectation. Then he went off to the Red Lion to drink. His habits seem very bad!"

This piece of information did surprise Wickham, for it hardly seemed consistent with his childhood friend whom he had often described as a goody two-shoes and a stick in the mud.

"I have frequently deplored them," said Wickham slyly.

"Aside from his general arrogance and lack of amiability," continued Elizabeth, "my recent stay at Netherfield made me aware that he seems to go out every night and frequently does not return till dawn, after which he sleeps till noon."

"I am afraid, Miss Elizabeth," said Wickham, assuming his most clerical aspect, "that you have only described the general habits of the Ton. Unlike your esteemed father, an honest squire who is the salt of the earth, they take their tithes and fritter them away in gambling and debauchery."

"I suppose he thinks those black clothes of his help him blend into the shadows," said Elizabeth thoughtfully. "Do you think it is possible that a man who finds it necessary to dress in such a way can be up to any good?"

Wickham recalled that Darcy had also been dressed entirely in black when he had smashed through his window in London with that diabolic snarl on his face. George was once more moved to think that his shooting of Darcy had been entirely Darcy's fault.

"I fear not," he said, glad to be making such inroads in the community to Darcy's detriment. It seemed his nemesis had been doing a good job of lowering his own stock.

The reel had finished and when Lydia ran up to importune Lieutenant Wickham to stand up with her, he shrugged comically at Elizabeth and good-naturedly went off to dance. Elizabeth took the opportunity to subdue the nature of the dancing, with words to Mary pointing out the numerous expensive objects in Sir William's parlour. Mary dutifully promised to play music more suited to a quadrille.

Darcy did not reappear in the parlour, much to Wickham's relief. Mr Collins' pursuit of him proved fruitless and one of Sir William's footmen advised him that the gentleman, being indisposed, had taken the hack chaise back towards Meryton. Miss Bingley was quite distraught that her guest had been forced to stoop to using what was no doubt a dirty conveyance, roundly criticising Hurst for not alerting her to Mr Darcy's wish to be gone. She was feeling a little tired herself.

It was not long before Louisa manifested a headache, and the result of it was that the sisters made their goodbyes and prepared to go off with Hurst—who was still finding the Lucases' soirée damnably flat. But Mr Bingley could not be shifted from Jane's side. He thought it likely that Darcy had succumbed to one of his migraines; saw no reason to be off so soon after him. Indeed, he quietly reminded Caroline that Darcy did not like a fuss to be made of his maladies and assured her that Hurst should be sufficient escort if they really needed to go. He was certain he could get a lift* home in someone's carriage.

With most of the Bingleys gone and Charles so occupied with Jane, Wickham pretty much had the field to himself. Though he was careful not to directly raise the topic of Darcy or criticise him directly, George cast aspersions on Darcy's character on several occasions throughout the evening. His own star, on the other hand, was rapidly rising. When he left with Colonel Foster and several of the other officers at a suitably polite hour, everyone still in the parlour agreed that he surpassed all the officers in good breeding and beauty. But George did not depart before Lydia had extracted an invitation to the Netherfield ball from Mr Bingley on his behalf. Mr Bingley assured Lieutenant Wickham that the invitation was open to all officers and that he was most welcome.

The Bennets made to leave soon after, once Mrs Bennet had assured Mr Bingley there was room for him in their carriage. Mr Bingley could hardly think it was so since both Mr Bennet and Mr Collins were present, but he gladly accepted their offer. Indeed he would have willingly got on one of the horses like a postboy if it delayed his adieu to Jane. The men of the Bennet party had in fact ridden outside the carriage on the journey to Lucas Lodge, with Mr Bennet on the box with the coachman and Mr Collins on the dickie seat*. Mrs Bennet had very cleverly organised a spot in her sister's carriage for herself and her husband on the return journey.

On their departure, the Bennet sisters arranged themselves inside their carriage with Jane taking the forward-facing seat beside Lizzy, leaving room for Mr Bingley beside her, and the three youngest sisters assuming their customary positions on the backward-facing seat. Mr Collins would have climbed back onto the dickie seat had not Mrs Bennet encouraged him to find room inside. He went round to the road side and squeezed in beside Lydia, much to her protestations. It was just as well Mary and Kitty were thin.

Sitting opposite him, poor Lizzy had to endure her cousin's smiles all the way home via Netherfield, as well as his apologies whenever his knees knocked against hers.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

Sugar match

*lift . Meaning "help given to a pedestrian by taking him along his way in a vehicle" is from 1712. .com

dickie seat also known as a rumble seat.


	16. Animal magnetism

**Thanks** **to _alix33_ and _CG4me_ for spotting errors.**

 **Suggestions for the title of Chapter 15 were:**

 **"Disparagement and lies" or "The charming wicked Wickham" by _Laure SaintYves_**

 **"Character Assassination" by _Deanna27_ ,**

 **"Wickham's Fake News" by _Dizzy Lizzy.60_ ,**

 **"Burns" by _Windchimed_ ,**

 **"Tales from the Dark Side" by _YepItsMe_ ,**

 **"First Strike" by _austen16_**

 **"Deception" by _Chica de Los Ojas Café,_**

 **"Malcontent" and "Minions" by _LotsofLaundry_ ,**

 **"Fools and jokers" by _phyloxena_ ,**

 **"Shaken and Stirred" or "Getting Your Blood Up" or "Bad Blood Brother" by _amamama_ ,**

 **"Wickham Strikes Again" by _CG4me_**

 **So many good ones. I liked the match theme. I put an interesting picture of a very rare "Promethean" sugar match from the Bryant and May collection being lit with a pair of pliers on the Pinterest board.** **Apparently some people used to light them with their teeth! The probably stubbed their cigarillos out in their palms :)** **I decided to go with "The fine art of fibs" based on your suggestion, _Dizzy Lizzy.60_.**

* * *

 **Chapter 16** **Animal magnetism**

When Jane awoke the next morning, she felt she was floating an inch above the sheets. There could no longer be any doubt of Mr Bingley's attachment to her. All her dearest wishes had come true! He was a prince come down from heaven or an angel ridden in from London, or something like that. You must forgive her unclear thinking, for she felt quite giddy.

With Lizzy it was otherwise. Last night she had met the man of her dreams—handsome, amiable, and if he was not perhaps as intelligent as she might have hoped in her impossible criteria, he had at least shown himself capable and independent. Moreover he had a heart, and there was the rub*—it belonged to another. Miss Darcy was a lucky lady. What did Lizzy have? Mr Collins—oily, ridiculous and getting more insistent by the hour. How could she elude him? She dared not go to breakfast early, as was her wont, for her cousin was an early riser. There was safety in numbers.

Jane was eager to share her prosperous love and Lizzy listened patiently, partaking in her sister's joy. Jane related everything Mr Bingley had said on the previous night—of his factories and his circumstances—the most felicitous of which were repeated three times over. There were no words of love, but even silk, linen and wool—woollen or worsted*—can sound lovely from the lips of an admirer, and Mr Bingley had shown a particularity to Jane that was most pleasing. Finally there was no more to be said and Jane asked Lizzy of her evening and especially of her new acquaintance, for as preoccupied as Jane had been, she had yet noticed Lizzy sitting on the love seat with the handsome Lieutenant.

"He is truly amiable. I do not believe I have met a man better spoken. He makes Sir William seem like our curmudgeonly Uncle Phillips, or no—Mr Collins!"

Jane laughed at the allusion, but when Lizzy went on to relate Mr Wickham's information, Jane could not feel the same as her sister on almost any point, which was truly shocking, for they had never had such a divergence of opinion before. She was surprised Mr Darcy was so closely related to the nobility—for Mr Bingley had said nothing of it. She thought Mr Darcy's modesty did him credit. She even went so far as to say that there was some justification for Mr Darcy's arrogance—being born so high, it was only natural.

From this small fissure in their feelings on the subject of Mr Darcy, the difference threatened to yawn into a gulf when the topic veered to Mr Wickham himself. Jane was sure Mr Darcy must have some reason for his behaviour towards his father's godson—she could not think a friend of Mr Bingley so unjust. Even if the best living had been given to someone else—no doubt for a good reason—why could not Mr Wickham have settled for a more modest living elsewhere or a curacy? Why abandon his career completely to join the militia?—and at such an advanced age, for he looked about thirty. Was it possible that he had been expelled from the Church? Finally, when Lizzy related the tale of Miss Darcy, Jane was quite shocked. She thought Mr Wickham very wrong and Miss Darcy too! Her sympathies were all with Mr Darcy. He had done just as he ought in preventing his sister's marriage to a man who could not support her in the style she was accustomed to. There could be nothing but unhappiness for the poor lady down that road.

Lizzy was truly stunned to receive the closest thing to a rebuke she had ever had from her gentle sister. They got up to dress in silence but when Jane saw Lizzy's shoulder—the blueness now blooming with delicate shades of green—she was all solicitude and smoothed arnica on it.

"You are passionate and impulsive, Lizzy, and I love you for it, but beware, your strengths are also potentially your faults. Be careful with Lieutenant Wickham."

Lizzy was on the verge of tears—she thought she was rather going to have to be more careful of Mr Collins. She pulled on the same dowdy dress she had worn last night to continue warding off her admirer, though she knew now her efforts were useless.

It was a dismal day. A steady drizzle had dampened the morning light and sounds, which both conspired to make the ladies descend half an hour after their usual time, as revealed by the long clock at the base of the staircase. Jane was sorry for it but Lizzy was glad, for it had been her intention to tarry*.

Upon their entering the breakfast room, Mrs Bennet immediately began to felicitate Jane on her conquest of Mr Bingley's heart. During the excitement of her mother's effusions, Elizabeth managed to avoid being singled out by her cousin by eating quickly and getting up before he had finished his tea. But the rain was now coming down in sheets and any thoughts of escaping outside had to be abandoned.

Instead, Lizzy fled to the still room and locked herself in. She was at first dismayed to find the servants had not replenished the coal, which would have allowed her to at least warm the room. But she drew about her an old cloak which she kept on a hook and sat down to read her receipt* book. It could not hold her attention.

She wondered if Mr Wickham dabbled in the dark arts. He certainly had seemed to throw a glamour on her. In the absence of his beautiful face, his beguiling lips, Lizzy could not but agree with Jane—there was something fishy about Lieutenant Wickham.

Lizzy's thoughts strayed to Mr Darcy and his sister. She wondered how old Miss Darcy was. Elizabeth thought her brother between twenty-five and thirty. He seemed a little older than Mr Bingley whom Lizzy knew to be twenty-five. She had to admit that despite her knowledge of Mr Darcy's bad habits which she had not disclosed to Jane—his drinking from his hip flask and carousing at night—there was as yet little evidence of his debauchery in his countenance. With the exception of the creases he could summon all too quickly between his eyebrows, which might be ascribed to worry or deep thought, his face was unlined. Perhaps his resorting to drink was of recent origin; maybe even worry for his sister had tipped him over the edge.

As for Miss Darcy, Elizabeth thought it likely that she was a little older than herself. Given she was not already married despite having money, it seemed likely that Mr Darcy's sister was not pretty. Lizzy felt a little sorry for her. If Mr Wickham's affection for her was genuine, which Jane seemed to doubt, perhaps their childhood affection for each other had guided their relationship. Surely his beauty compensated for his lack of money and complemented Miss Darcy's own status?—for she had money and likely lacked beauty.

Thoughts of Mr Darcy reminded Lizzy of his handkerchief, which she had used to sop up Mr Chamberlayne's drink. Because he had gone off so precipitately and not returned, she had had no chance to give it back to Mr Darcy. Here at last was something to do! She could compare it with the other! Lizzy drew it out of her pocket and hurried to the drying rack for herbs.

Elizabeth had washed the blood out of the handkerchief yesterday and hung it out to dry there in the still room, away from her mother's curious eyes. It had been difficult for Lizzy to tell if she had removed the stain from the black handkerchief when it was wet, but she could now feel the silk was no longer stiff with dried blood but soft again. Unpegging it, Lizzy took it to the window to compare it with the one from her pocket. There could be no doubt—the fabric, the size, the stitching—everything declared that both had come from the same owner.

The inevitable question then arose—just what had Mr Darcy been doing near Longbourn's henhouse? She recalled his explanation of having lost his handkerchief in Meryton. Lizzy supposed it was possible that a light-fingered chicken thief might have picked it up or even taken it from his pocket. But if this master felon who had so recently invaded their sleepy shire existed, who was he? In the end, Elizabeth decided she would just have to give Mr Darcy the benefit of the doubt since she could not think of a single reason why he would be standing next to the Bennets' chicken coop.

Lizzy sighed and sat down, feeling like she was in a gaol cell. She half-heartedly turned several pages of the receipt book, which she had perused many times before. She had almost resigned herself to comparing her various receipts for ginger beer with the aim of refining a master recipe when, glancing round, she saw another book on her desk and almost gave a shout of delight. She had forgotten about the book on alchemy she had borrowed from her father after her return from Netherfield, prompted by her encounter with Mr Darcy in the study. Elizabeth remembered opening the book, being immediately put off by the obscure references at the beginning of the text and setting it aside, her ephemeral interest lasting only minutes.

In the light of her enforced confinement, the alchemical text now seemed like a godsend. On the second perusal, the beginning remained remarkably abstruse so Lizzy spent her time instead examining the many pictures, which although filled with strange symbols, carried reassuring pictures of the apparatus of her still room: limbeks and flasks. Half-way through the book, she stumbled upon directions to make sulfuric acid, nitric acid and aqua regis*. As the directions looked more like her receipts for ginger beer than any of the philosophical ramblings she had mostly encountered in exploring the book's contents, they managed to engage her attention.

Her perusal sustained her until midday when Lydia came banging on the door to tell her that several of the officers had arrived, including Mr Wickham who was asking for her. Thinking herself safe from Mr Collins in company, Lizzy ventured out. The officers present turned out to be Captain Carter, Lieutenant Wickham, Mr Chamberlayne and Mr Denny. They had braved the rain in a hack chaise to take their pot luck with the Bennets after an open invitation by the mistress of Longbourn last night. The rain had disrupted their duties and rather than spend all morning at cards in the Red Lion, they had decided to make the journey under cover. They hoped the weather might clear later in the afternoon to allow them to walk back to Meryton.

Any other lady might have been seriously discomposed by the arrival of four officers at such short notice, but not Mrs Bennet. She was in her element. She kept a generous table at all times and her housekeeper Mrs Hill was very adept in turning leftovers into pies and fritters, which were generally eaten by the servants. Everything available was put on the table and if the servants had only stale bread dipped in ale to stave off their hunger, they did not repine, for something would likely come back from the table and there would be more for dinner when the officers went off. The servants of Longbourn generally did very well on all the family did not eat.

The meal was a success with a merry time had by all. While he was at table, Mr Bennet discovered the more senior officers not incapable of sensible conversation; and after the squire retired to his study, the ladies were able to fully enjoy the company of four gentlemen who were not family. Despite Jane's injunction, Lizzy found herself seated next to Lieutenant Wickham and was treated to his general powers of conversation, which were not marred by a single mention of Mr Darcy. She would have done better to listen to her sister though, for Mr Collins was not happy with the incursion of the new lieutenant. He watched the pair of them closely and began to think that the sooner he secured his cousin's hand in marriage, the better.

Lunch lingered on and still it rained. The officers were invited to play at lottery tickets*. Kitty and Lydia became quite raucous. Tea and scones were offered. Finally, when the sun was getting low in the sky and still it rained, Kitty was moved to enquire of her father if the Bennet carriage might be available. Rather than being eaten out of house and home, the squire duly offered it and the officers were sent home dry.

After their departure, Lizzy went upstairs to dress for dinner with Jane, making this her excuse to avoid Mr Collins. 'Dressing for dinner' had not hitherto been a custom at Longbourn, but Lizzy had seen at Netherfield how the Bingleys changed into formal wear for the grand meal of the day and it seemed timely to adopt the custom, if only to avoid the company of their cousin. Jane was all in favour of such an improving social nicety. In the end, the sisters spent so much time discussing the officers' visit and how Kitty and Lydia might be encouraged to modify their behaviour that they only changed the ribbons in their hair before descending an hour later to Hill's summons.

Despite Elizabeth's making herself scarce, Mr Collins was not so easily put off his mission. He was, moreover, getting a little uneasy. Having lost his first choice, Jane, to his untimely arrival in Hertfordshire after Mr Bingley, he had turned his attention to Elizabeth, next in birth and beauty. After having the advantage of observing Elizabeth at close quarters during his time with the Bennets, a sensible man of Mr Collins' habits might have concluded that she was not the bride for him. Lizzy was smart and adventurous and, as Jane had observed, impulsive and passionate. Had Mr Collins written a list of the qualities he was looking for in a bride, it would certainly not have included any of those adjectives. Indeed, it would not have occurred to Mr Collins to write a list of qualities he desired in a bride at all—any female with two arms, two legs and the other requisite anatomy would do. As for abilities, some men might have been put off by Elizabeth's willingness to confront the raider of the henhouse—fowling pieces could not be thought the province of a lady. But it was Mr Collins' opinion that in addition to cooking and cleaning, the ability to ward off housebreakers might be a useful attribute in a wife that could well come in handy.

But now Lieutenant Wickham had arrived and Mr Collins could see the handsome officer stealing a march on him*. It seemed the Bennet sisters were being plucked, one by one, from under his nose—just like the chickens. If he did not act quickly, all his careful lovemaking of the past week would go to waste and he would have to start from scratch with the next one! As a result, the clergyman used his time before dinner well with Mrs Bennet, talking of his growing affection, decisiveness, and his need to be back to Lady Catherine. Before the dinner bell had been rung, he had requested and been granted an audience alone with Lizzy after dinner.

* * *

As Darcy ran through the rain towards Longbourn his thoughts swirled about the reappearance of his nemesis, George Wickham. Darcy had woken that morning from a disturbed sleep to discuss his situation with Finn.

"I really think you ought to tell the earl that you have found Mr Wickham, sir," his valet had urged.

"I hesitate to do so, Finn. You know my uncle has a tendency to take the law into his own hands. He will have Wickham set upon or will do something to shame him—tie him behind his carriage and make him run until he drops like he did with that footman who was spying in his household."

"Would that be such a bad thing, sir? Mr Wickham nearly killed you."

"He did, but I do not know how large a part my own actions played in precipitating that event. All I can remember is him refusing to open the door; making lewd comments about what he had done to my sister through it. By the time I climbed up to his window I was infuriated and when I saw Georgie's state of undress—incandescent. I lost all reason. If you had a pistol in your hands and an enraged vampire flew at you, what would you do?"

"I would not seduce my friend's sister or taunt him about it. Nor would I point a pistol at him, sir—no matter how enraged he was."

Darcy had sighed. "Besides, he is my father's godson! Convincing Georgie to elope with him was a thoroughly debased thing for him to do, but as to shooting me—I cannot acquit myself of some culpability. If George has joined the militia, he has at least now got a profession. If I had died, he might well have hanged. Perhaps the incident has made him examine his conduct."

"I am surprised that he found the money to purchase a commission, sir. But I do not think that leopards change their spots.* What is more, I cannot like him appearing here in Hertfordshire—it seems more than coincidence."

"You would not say that, Finn, if you had seen him last night. He went as white as a sheet when he saw me. He was as much surprised as I."

"It is too bad, sir. Now he sees you are well enough, he will think that he has nothing to answer for. He is as bold as brass."

"It is better for Georgie that the incident be forgotten. I pray to God every day that there will be no further consequences. It was my intention in removing here to hide the extent of my injury and my quick recovery from it. If George thinks me recovered, so much the better."

Attempting to push his swirling memories aside, Darcy ran on. He was wearing a three-caped oilskin that kept him mostly dry, but his boots were already soaked and the old tricorn he had put on to keep his head dry was beginning to droop in the rain.

Further disquieting revelations had followed at breakfast. He had, of course, apologised to Bingley and Caroline for going off alone so precipitately from the soirée—he had not wished to spoil their evening. Caroline protested that she would have happily accompanied him home—it had all been so boring. She then proceeded to relate the evening's happenings. Her tale was highly entertaining and ranged over a number of topics, but chiefly dwelt on the failings of the Bennets. Nonetheless, she imbued the whole with such droll humour that her brother had difficulty protesting without looking a spoilsport.

The behaviour of Catherine and Lydia or the discordant performance of Mary on the pianoforte could not be of interest to Darcy, but when he heard news of the entail on Longbourn; the fact that the ridiculous pastor he had seen conversing with Sir William was the heir; the rumour that the clergyman intended to marry one of the Bennet sisters; the information that the fellow resided at Hunsford and served his Aunt Catherine, Darcy found his attention riveted. And when Caroline went on to describe how the pastor was seen practically jumping from one foot to another when the new lieutenant of the militia sat down on a love seat with Miss Elizabeth and engaged her in conversation for over half an hour, Darcy was appalled. Of all the ladies in the room Wickham could have chosen to sweet talk, why did it have to be her?

Finally Darcy arrived at Longbourn and, carefully avoiding the chicken coop, proceeded to circle the house slowly. It was still early in the evening. His anxiety had been such that rather than delaying his advent by feeding as he normally did, Darcy had swigged several of the port wine bottles of blood as a precaution, wincing at their stale taste. The house was well lit. He could see the family leaving the dining room. As he watched, he saw Elizabeth attempt to leave likewise, only to be pushed back into the room by her mother. Mrs Bennet gave a cheery wave as she left, which Darcy was at odds to understand before he realised his aunt's pastor was still seated at the dining table.

As Darcy watched, the clergyman got up and approached Elizabeth. Clasping his hands behind his back and rocking up and down upon his heels, he began to talk to her. Elizabeth was visibly agitated. She looked wildly in one direction then the other. She lunged towards the window, turning her back on the clergyman and putting her hands on the glass as if she longed to push through it and escape. Finally the clergyman went down on one knee and Darcy felt so sickened he had to briefly turn away. It was too excruciating to watch. His hands clenched. He ground his teeth. He shook his head.

Then the clergyman got up and attempted to take Elizabeth's hand. Darcy could stand it no longer.

Before he knew it he had started whispering, 'Elizabeth, Elizabeth! Come to me!' under his breath.

He saw Elizabeth turn back towards her cousin; wrench her hand free. Then she flung open the French doors and ran out into the darkness and rain. Granted, she did not run directly towards him, but Darcy quickly compensated by taking several long strides in her direction. Meeting her in the darkness, he grasped her hand and turned her smartly around. Still whispering, he reached down to stroke her neck.

"Mr Darcy!" she blurted in shock. Then, after a pause: "So it _was_ you near the henhouse!"

"My God!" replied Darcy. "You are not mesmerised!"

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*there was the rub—there was the problem

*woollen or worsted - different types of wool yarn woollen is used for knitting, worsted for suits. The name of the latter derives from Worstead, a village in the English county of Norfolk.

*tarry - drag the chain, be intentional late by delaying.

*aqua regis - from Latin, lit. "royal water" or "king's water") mixture of nitric acid and hydrochloric acid, optimally in a molar ratio of 1:3, so named by alchemists because it can dissolve the noble metals gold and platinum, though not all metals.

*receipt - recipe

*lottery tickets - a card game of chance played at Mrs Philips' in PnP

*leopards do not change their spots - from Jeremiah 13:23 - people who do bad things tend to go on doing bad things.

*white as a sheet, dates from 1600 Free dictionary.

*bold as brass dates back to the 1700s - someone who exudes extreme confidence, someone who is brazen or very forward. Grammarist

*Stealing a March on him. Gain an advantage over (someone) by acting before they do. This phrase derives from the military manoeuvre of moving troops secretly, in order to gain an advantage. It has been used since at least the early 18th century, when it was cited in the London Gazette, 1716:

"We saw him... steal a March for our Preservation.".

Napoleon was the master of stealing a march. He did it at Austerlitz and again Waterloo, where he came very close to carrying the day by the manoeuvre.


	17. Nightwalkers

**Sorry about the cliffhangers but they seem to just write themselves. If it's any consolation, they are a wonderful incentive to write the next chapter.**

 **Thanks to _alix33_ and _CG4me_ for finding errors. I used the IUPAC spelling, standard also in Britain—like the metric system—but the 'ph' is more historically correct.**

 **You're right, _amamama_ , although Franz Mesmer lived during the Georgian/regency period, during which he popularised the concept of an invisible natural force possessed by all living/animate beings, which he called "living magnetism" (lebensmagnetismus), anglicised to "animal magnetism", his name did not became attached to the field till after his death in 1815. Practitioners were often known as magnetizers rather than mesmerists during that early period. The practice was very big during Darcy's time and throughout the Victorian period before being largely debunked in the early 20th century. Benjamin Franklin even engaged in experiments on mesmerism. Because magnetism has a new modern meaning, I decided to use the word "mesmerism" despite it being anachronistic, but failed to explain it. Thank you for putting me on the spot.**

 **Suggestions for the title of Chapter 16 were:**

 **"Subconscious Pull" and "Three Beaus" by _LotsOfLaundry_ ,**

 **"Disenchantment and Resistance" by _Clara84_ ,**

 **"Three might be company, but one's definitely enough" by _Deanna27_ ,**

 **"A Leopard Cannot Change its Spots" or "Unmesmerized" by _Chica De Los Ojas Café,_**

 **"The beauty and the three beaux" or "The beauty, the snake, the toad and the bat" or "Animal magnetism" by _Laure SaintYves,_**

 **"Attempt at mesmerizing" by _LMFG_ ,**

 **"Avoidance is Useless", "Jane's Perspicacity" by _CG4me_ ,**

 **"Epic Fail" by _YepItsMe_ ,**

 **"All is not gold that glitters" by _Sacredwoman2K_ ,**

 **"Trouble comes in threes" Or "Revelations" by _lupinsbloggart_ ,**

 **"The Sleuth" by _Dizzy Lizzy.60._**

 **Again, so many good ones. Loved the 'three' fairy tale theme. "The beauty, the snake, the toad and the bat" made me laugh, _Laure SaintYves_. In the end I couldn't go past the double meaning of "Animal magnetism" by _Laure SaintYves._**

* * *

 **Chapter 17**

"My God!" replied Darcy. "You are not mesmerised!"

"Mesmerised? Why would I be mesmerised?"

Darcy snatched his hand away from her neck and shut his eyes briefly. How was he to acquit his behaviour? It was impossible! He wished briefly that he had the facility to lie like George Wickham before realising that, having watched Wickham's shameless untruths being swallowed for years, Darcy had had every opportunity to study him.

"I thought your cousin was mesmerising you..."

"Mr Collins?"

"Ye..Yes. He was rocking back and forth on his heels and seemed to be incanting something?" Darcy offered lamely.

The rain suddenly slackened to a light drizzle. Elizabeth looked back toward the light of the dining room, as if trying to imagine the scene. She did not wish to enlighten Mr Darcy on the humiliating truth behind the dumb play he seemed to have witnessed.

"He was reciting something," said Elizabeth, letting Mr Darcy think it was a poem rather than her cousin's stupid rehearsed proposal.

She then looked down at her wrists, which were now imprisoned by the black leather of Darcy's gloves. "Mr Darcy, will you please let go of my hands?"

With chagrin, Darcy realised that in snatching his hand away from Elizabeth's neck, he had grasped her wrists.

"I beg your pardon," he said, releasing her. "I thought you were going to fall." _Another bouncer*._

After rubbing her wrists, which still tingled from the after-effects of Mr Darcy's iron grip, Elizabeth decided to swiftly change the subject. "So what are you doing out here?"

"I am... investigating the chicken thief," extemporised Darcy. "We have lost some at Netherfield also."

"Do you think he is here now?" asked Elizabeth, looking about her.

"I followed someone but got distracted when you ran from the house."

"Was it you by the chicken coop the night before last or the thief? Your handkerchief was bloodied. Did I shoot you?"

"I was nearby, following. I cut myself earlier in the night... on a garden tool... As you see, I am fine."

"Why are you hunting the chicken thief? Surely Mr Bingley has men to do such things?"

"I can see very well at night. Much better than most men," said Darcy, unconsciously swerving again toward the truth.

"Is that why you wear those dark glasses during the day?" asked Lizzy curiously.

"I suppose the two are related," Darcy said honestly.

"Why did you touch my cheek?"

"I beg your pardon," said Darcy blushing. "I was concerned you were getting wet... The water on your face... You had better go back inside."

Elizabeth sighed, knowing full well that he was right. She was soaked. Mr Collins lurked inside but there was no where to run to. What had possessed her to burst out into the rain instead of calmly rejecting him?

"Do you wish to come inside?" she asked hopefully, clutching at any thing to save her from Mr Collins.

"No. As you see, I am dressed for the weather. Please..."

"Yes?"

"Please do not tell anyone you saw me. Your father might object to my trespass. I was only trying to help."

Elizabeth considered for a moment. "Very well."

She was about to return when she thought of the handkerchiefs and drew them out of her pocket. "Your handkerchiefs," she said, offering the now damp cloths.

Darcy quickly tugged off one of his gloves to receive them but instead of pocket them, his hand reached out slowly to her chin once more and with the two neatly folded squares, he gently wiped away a raindrop that was hanging there.

Through the thin silk Elizabeth could feel the warmth of his hand. Despite the fleeting contact, it was a more intimate gesture than when he had grasped her hands so fiercely. She felt a sudden warmth towards him that she was at a loss to explain.

"Good night," she said and turned to walk back to the house.

When she reached the door, Elizabeth looked back towards Mr Darcy, but he was gone. As she closed the door, the rain began to pour down again with increased ferocity.

Lizzy turned and with relief found herself alone in the room. Mr Collins was gone. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the sideboard; her dishevelled hair clung damply to her face. Then she noticed her muslin cap sleeves plastered to her skin. The cambric chemise underneath was also practically transparent; only her stays preserved her modesty. Lizzy looked down at her legs. They were clearly visible through the soaked material along with the pocket dangling from her waist. Standing on her tiptoes she could see she was barely decent; her underclothes so short that the gap between the tops of her legs could be seen.

With considerable trepidation Lizzy turned to view her back in the mirror. She had not pulled the chemise fully down beneath her short stays at the back as she dressed in the morning—to avoid an unsightly line across her bottom and to assist with her toilette. She could see the chemise had rucked up as she had leant forward during the day. The cleft of her pert bottom was clearly visible; the dowdy dress suddenly turned into a very daring one. Good Lord! Had Mr Darcy seen that? It had been pretty dark outside but he _had_ said he could see well in the dark. She could only hope that her walking towards the lighted house had provided some contrast and thrown her back into shadow.

Lizzy jumped when the dining room door opened and took refuge behind the table, but it was only her mother.

"Lizzy!" screeched Mrs Bennet as she hurried towards her. "What do you mean by running out into the rain when Mr Collins was pouring his heart out to you?"

Lizzy had no chance to reply before her mother caught sight of her clothing.

"Lizzy!" Mrs Bennet gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "You are not fit to be seen!"

Shame-faced, Lizzy for once had no reply.

After fishing around in the sideboard, Mrs Bennet produced a red damask tablecloth, flicked it out, and thrust it at her daughter.

"How can Mr Collins finish his proposal when you look like that? What possessed you to run out into the rain?"

"I thought I saw the fox."

"Lizzy! I do not know how a smart girl like you can be so silly! Longbourn is far more important than a few chickens! Now I will have to arrange another meeting for you with Mr Collins in the morning when you are decent!"

"No, Mama! Why did you arrange the first meeting without asking me my feelings? I cannot like our cousin. He is stupid and slimy!"

"Lizzy! How can I knock some sense into your head? Your cousin will inherit Longbourn! As his wife, you will be its mistress! _I_ cannot afford to keep you! We could all be living in the hedges if you do not accept him and it will all be YOUR FAULT!"

The door opened again and Lizzy initially feared it might be Mr Collins, come to renew his suit, but it was her father. Mr Bennet stopped just inside the door to view his dishevelled daughter wrapped in a tablecloth. He raised an eyebrow; then closed the door behind him.

"What is going on?" he enquired softly. "Mr Collins has just invaded my study in high dudgeon."

"Mr Collins has asked Lizzy to marry him and the silly girl ran out into the rain without replying!" Mrs Bennet wailed. "I am trying to arrange another meeting for tomorrow morning but the ungrateful wretch says she will not have him! Tell her she must be sensible!"

Mr Bennet approached his daughter who was beginning to shiver.

"I gather you have not warmed to your cousin," he said, tongue in cheek.

"No," replied Lizzy softly, fearing her capricious father's next words. Despite paying scant attention to her mother from the age of three, Elizabeth had never defied him.

"I cannot like him either," said Mr Bennet philosophically, looking into the middle distance. "It has been most amusing watching him slither around, but as to letting him take my favourite daughter... I do not think I can bear it."

Then, turning to his wife, "You will have to convince him to take one of the younger, sillier ones, Mrs Bennet."

Elizabeth blinked, finding herself off the hook.

"What?!" cried Mrs Bennet. "Now that he has fixed his interest, Mr Bennet? Lizzy is not one bit better than the others! She cannot play the pianoforte as well as Mary and she is not half as good-humoured as Lydia!"

"You heard me, Mrs Bennet," replied her husband shortly. "Now please remove Mr Collins from my study by offering him tea or whist, or whatever is required to make him disappear."

Mrs Bennet fumed but knew she was defeated. Her husband did not often put his foot down, but when he did, it took weeks of wailing and vapours to move him. She had less than a week to convince Mr Collins that he had been mistaken in his feelings for her second eldest before he was to return to Kent. Mrs Bennet pursed her lips at her husband and stamped her foot, but she dutifully went off to retrieve Mr Collins, all the while formulating praises of Mary in her head.

Lizzy unclutched one hand from her tablecloth to press her father's hand before taking the opportunity to make her escape; fleeing up the stairs before Mr Collins could emerge from the study. She arrived in her bedchamber to find Jane sitting unhappily on the end of the bed. Her sister looked up and her eyes goggled as Lizzy entered the room and closed the door behind her.

"Lizzy! What happened?"

"Did you know?" asked Lizzy, suspicious of her sister's posture.

"Oh, Lizzy! Mama told me when we left the dining room. There was nothing I could do! Did he propose?" asked Jane, jumping up. "Why are you wet?"

"Oh, Jane! It was awful! He started on this long rehearsed speech on why he needed to marry, because Lady Catherine had told him to do so! Then he went on about the entail— _so condescending!_ —telling me how magnanimous he was to allow me to continue living in what has always been my home! I thought I could bear no more until he got down on his knee and told me how deeply his affections were engaged, mentioning all these attributes that do not resemble me in the least! It was like I had walked into the wrong room! I longed to be away from him! When he got up and took my hand before I could think of how to politely refuse him— _in such a proprietary manner!_ —I went a little mad. I ran out into the night. Of course, it was ridiculous. I got soaked and then I realised there was nothing for it but to return to the house—to my doom!

Jane had retrieved a huckaback towel from the washstand as her sister spoke and, pulling some pins out, she began to squeeze her sister's hair dry. Submitting to her Jane's ministrations, Lizzy sat down on the stool before the dressing table.

"When I arrived back, Mr Collins had thankfully gone. Then Mother came in and began to scold me, telling me she would arrange another interview for the morning."

"Oh no!" groaned Jane.

"Do not worry!" interjected her sister. "Father arrived next—thankfully Mr Collins had disturbed him in his study. Papa says I do not have to marry Mr Collins. Mother is not pleased."

"Oh, Lizzy, I am so glad! Come to the fire! Is that a tablecloth you have around you?"

Standing up, Lizzy dropped the tablecloth and swivelled around to show her sister her back side. Jane's hand flew to her mouth and Lizzy laughed to have shocked her sister. Jane could not help but join in.

"What did Mama say?" said Jane, once she had herself under control.

"I will not bore you by repeating it. I believe Mama will try to interest him in Mary next."

"At least Mary is not repulsed by him. She said he might make a decent husband if he was encouraged to read and improve himself."

"Did she say that?" asked Elizabeth with incredulity as she struggled from her sodden dress. "Is arrogance the only characteristic Mary has inherited from our father?"

"You must forgive her. Mr Collins _is_ very silly. You said so yourself!"

"True! Perhaps I can only accuse her of unwarranted optimism."

Lizzy donned her night gown and, after having her hair combed by Jane for an hour in front of the fire, was ready for bed. Putting their cares away, they had talked inconsequentially of the Netherfield ball—what they intended to wear, what still needed to be purchased—while Lizzy's hair dried. But in-between her words Lizzy thought of Mr Darcy—the intimate stroke of her cheek, the pressure of his hands as he clutched her, and finally the way he had delicately wiped her chin, going slightly cross-eyed as he did it.

After the sisters climbed into bed and snuggled together, the secret Lizzy had vowed to him to keep burned inside her. She had never kept anything from her sister to before. It felt wrong.

"Jane, can you keep a secret?"

"What about?"

"No! You must vow first!

"I promise."

"When I ran outside, Mr Darcy was there."

"Mr Darcy!?"

"Yes, he was outside standing in the rain."

"Whatever for? Did he speak to you?"

"He said he was looking for the fox."

"How bizarre," said Jane, thinking for a moment. "But you see, you have him all wrong! He goes out at night to help the community!"

"He admitted he was out near the hencoop the other night when I fired the shotgun. The handkerchief was his. Do you think it is possible that he is the chicken thief?"

"Impossible!" said Jane hotly. "Why would a rich gentleman steal chickens? Lizzy! You could have shot him! Did he explain the blood?"

"He said he cut himself on a garden tool."

"Well clearly you must have missed. Otherwise he could not have been at the soirée last night."

"Which he left early, as per usual. Do you think he might be a Bow Street runner?"

"Are they not men of a lower social standing—like ex-boxers? Besides, they have to be hired by some one. The only likely person to have done so is Sir William and he would have told us if he had. Why did you ask me to keep it a secret? Did he extract such a promise from you?"

"Yes. He said he was worried our father would not like his trespass. I feel bound to keep my promise—but not with you; I could never keep anything important from you," she said, hugging her sister. "Still, his reason does seem strange. Is it possible that Mr Darcy could be a French spy?"

Jane sighed in exasperation. "We are not at war with the French any more! Why cannot you take what he says at face value, Lizzy? Mr Darcy is a gentleman. You could have killed him! Promise me you will not use the gun any more unless you are hunting with father."

"I promise," said Lizzy reluctantly. "Though who shall save the chickens now with Father sleeping like a log, I do not know."

"Mr Darcy," yawned Jane and, turning over, she settled down to sleep.

* * *

Darcy ran back towards Meryton, his mind in turmoil and his boots squelching with every step. His teeth ached. Although he had not appreciated the full glory of Elizabeth's transparent dress, he had seen how it clung to her shoulders, and as she walked back to the house, her silhouette—light and pleasing. He had dug his fingernails into his right palm upon seeing that. His meeting her had somehow crystallised his dilemma in his mind. Finn was right—Darcy could no longer pretend to himself that these nightly excursions were intelligence missions. He was fatally attracted to Miss Elizabeth Bennet and the safest thing he could do would be to keep his distance from her—as per his original intention. He would have to find someone suitable on the Longbourn estate to establish as a keeper—something he should have done in the first place after the Bennet sisters' visit to Netherfield. Sighing, he picked up his pace, eager to return to Netherfield and solace.

* * *

Meanwhile in the Red Lion, Wickham was deep in thought. He and Denny had parted ways with Captain Carter and Chamberlayne before dinner. The captain and the ensign were billeted with Mrs Long, whereas Wickham and Denny were

with Mrs Andrews who was staying overnight with her brother in Luton. When Mr Andrews had declared at breakfast his intention to dine on cheese toast during the entirety of his wife's absence, Wickham and Denny had agreed that sustenance would have to be sought elsewhere—hence their impromptu visit to Longbourn; joined, due to the rain, by their fellow officers. After dinner at the Red Lion, Denny had fallen asleep beside the fire over his pint* while Wickham stared into the red flames and cogitated.

After getting over his initial shock of seeing Darcy hale and hearty; the subsequent indignation he had felt at being put to the monumental inconvenience of fleeing the country after their brangle*, Wickham began to think there was something fishy about Darcy.

Firstly, Wickham was fairly sure he had dealt Darcy a fatal shot from his pistol during their encounter in London. George had not murdered anyone before but he had seen a few mortal wounds in his time and he thought he had recognised one. Darcy's falling like a log had seemed to confirm it. What was the secret of Darcy's startling rapid recovery? It was unnerving, making George feel like he had somehow stepped into fairy* instead of France—like their encounter had been several months back instead of weeks.

Secondly, who was this nobody Charles Bingley and why was Darcy consorting with him? Since when had the haughty-taughty* Fitzwilliams sought company with the bourgeois?

Finally, why had the conservative Darcy, who never aspired to anything in fashion that singled him out, started wearing all black? How Byronic!

It was all very perplexing. Just what had occurred on Darcy's Grand Tour to effect these changes? Had the real Darcy been kidnapped and a doppelgänger* been sent back? It was all very curious...

George's reverie was interrupted when two strangers walked in the door of the Red Lion, stamping their feet. To the barman's enquiry, they replied that the rain had stopped.

Restless, Wickham woke Denny.

"What?" replied the younger man. "Did I fall asleep?"

Wickham ignored this mundane question. "So, you have been filling in your leisure time with Harry Winston by stealing chickens, have you?" he whispered.

"It was just a bit of fun and gig," yawned Denny.

"Trust Harry to be up to no good! You'll end up in the stocks that way, you know; or worse."

"It wasn't entirely frivolous," defended Denny. "Harry said that once we go to war, we will likely have to fend for ourselves and it was good practise."

"What did you do with the chickens?"

"We gave them to the gypsies to tell our fortunes."

Wickham rolled his eyes. "Clever men make their own fortunes," he said dismissively. "I will teach you a more valuable skill."

"What?" asked Denny eagerly.

"How to be a spy," grinned Wickham.

* * *

The two officers did not have to go far during their first reconnoiter. They had barely reached the end of Meryton's Main Street when a figure dressed entirely black appeared from a right of way* to the south.

"Halt! Who goes there?" demanded Wickham, though he recognised the figure perfectly well.

"It is me, George," said Darcy. "As you know very well."

"State your business!" demanded Lieutenant Wickham.

"This is not a war zone!" retorted Darcy, astounded at Wickham's impudence. "Mind your own business!"

It had been Darcy's intention to warm up in the Red Lion over a pint before proceeding to the tenants' cottages of Netherfield, but his encounter with Wickham put him off the idea entirely. He turn his back on his nemesis and proceeded along the road west.

"That," said George to his student, "is a man behaving suspiciously. We are going to find out what he is doing."

At that moment it started sprinkling again, showing the break in the rain had been only a respite.

"...tomorrow," added Wickham, and turned back towards their billet.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*bouncer - a big fat lie as opposed to a whisker, which is a little one. Historically, a bouncer was a big person who made much noise in moving, hence the modern meaning of a person who throws the disorderly out of pubs.

*pint of ale

*brangle - squabble, wrangle.

*haughty-taughty

*fairy - time passes more slowly in fairy, so when you come back, more time has passed than was apparent to you.

*doppelgänger - an apparition or double of a living person, a clone.

*right of way - public path across private property


	18. Where there's smoke

**Thanks to _alix33_ for corrections.**

 **Suggestions for the title of Chapter 17 were:**

 **"I Can See Clearly Now" by _Deanna27_ ,**

 **"Darcy the Great Chicken Detective", "so much to conceal..and reveal ", "Meryton hide and seek" by _anita1788_ ,**

 **"Birdwatchers" by _Missouri Walker_ ,**

 **"Oh, So Transparent" by _JAF1995_ ,**

 **"The Truth is out there" by _Dizzy Lizzy.60_ ,**

 **"Reconnaissance" by _YepItsMe_ ,**

 **"Diaphanēs". My other chapter suggestion is: "Something Fishy" by _LotsOfLaundry_ ,**

 **"Night vision enlightens sight" or "Spy games" by _Laure SaintYves_ ,**

 **"Interviews with a Vampire and Spy"; "Night Vision Reveals (Almost) All"; "Hurrah for Mr Bennet" by _CG4me_ ,**

 **"The Man in Black" by _Sacredwoman2K_ ,**

 **You got me humming "I Can See Clearly Now", _Deanna27_. What a catchy song! I liked "the Man in Black" by _Sacredwoman2K_ , but decided to go with "Nightwalkers", based on a suggestion by _Chica de Los Ojas Café_ for chapter 10.**

* * *

 **Chapter 18**

Though the next few days were inclement, in between his new duties in the regiment, Wickham did his best to keep an eye on Darcy. He had hoped that the weather might give him free scope to pursue his own activities but when Colonel Forster saw the rain was set in, he declared that war was conducted in all seasons; that they should all be glad they were not marching on Moscow. Denny helpfully explained that this was a reference to Napoleon's disastrous campaign in the Russian winter, to which George replied with an eye roll that he could read the newspaper just as well as the next fellow. Wickham could only be glad the militia's drills were few due to the weather.

Nonetheless, he borrowed Captain Carter's horse to ride out to Netherfield as early in the morn as he could rouse himself. He traded posts with other officers so that he could watch for Darcy in the evening and teach Denny to do so. From these various excursions, he learnt that Darcy no longer took a morning ride as had been his wont since he was old enough to sit astride a horse; that he only left the house at night. It took Wickham two nights to realise that Darcy did not emerge from a door for these jaunts, but climbed out his bedchamber window, which was quite strange. Could it be that Darcy was trysting with some rich widow in the area—a liaison he wished to keep secret from his friend or, more likely, the encroaching Miss Bingley? It was all very mysterious and un-Darcy.

Once he had established that much, Wickham had sufficient information to start pumping the locals. He discovered that Darcy suffered from terrible migraines, which were apparently the cause of his leaving various social functions early. Whether these were real or not, Wickham could only surmise. At first George concluded Darcy's headaches might have arisen as a result of the injury he had sustained from Wickham's pistol, or might be covering some general weakness Darcy still felt. George heard there had initially been a rumour that Darcy had been severely injured in a duel before he came to Netherfield; but this was now held to be false, for he had not been seen by the local apothecary and no London physician was known to visit Netherfield.

But then George recalled that Darcy had been wearing black when he had climbed through the window to attack him with that damnable snarl on his face. He remembered Georgie complaining about how distant Darcy had become since his return from the Continent. Wickham began to think that Darcy's corruption—for, based on his previous saintly habits, George could call it little else—could be traced back to his 'Grand Tour' with Colonel Fitzwilliam. George hated Darcy's cousin Richard Fitzwilliam with a vengeance, for he had never been able to pull the wool over his eyes*. George had no trouble imagining the worldly colonel introducing Darcy to those famed Viennese brothels and spent an entertaining five minutes imagining the scene.

When the skies cleared on the afternoon of the Netherfield ball, most of the regiment's officers were engaged not with their duties but with the business of smartening themselves up. They polished their boots and their buttons, bought pomade for their hair, and had their whiskers shaved to points by the local barber. Colonel Forster even took a bath at the barber's shop. Denny, who was just as eager to join his comrades in their preparations, was instead sitting in the long grass on a hillock overlooking Netherfield, watching the manor house. He had been waiting for Wickham to join him for over an hour and was about to give up and walk back to Meryton when he saw George riding towards him on Captain Carter's horse. After tying his horse to a tree shielded from the house by the backward slope of the hill, Wickham joined Denny in the grass.

"You're late," grumbled Denny. "We should be getting ready for the ball."

"I'm not going to the ball," said Wickham, shocking his friend. Not that morning Wickham had talked animatedly of the new heiress in town, Miss King.

To Denny's dumbfounded expression, Wickham sought to explain himself, "I have unfortunately been called to London on some important business."

"But what of Miss King?"

"You will have to dance with her for me," said Wickham airily. "I want a detailed report. If she is not as plain as a pudding, I might be interested in her, but these heiresses are often shockingly ugly. Now, back to the business of spying. What has happened on your watch?"

"Bingley and Hurst went shooting half an hour ago. Other than that, nothing."

Wickham grimaced. It seemed that despite Darcy's recent descent into depravity, he was just as boring during the day as ever. But as they watched, a figure emerged from the manor house and headed for the stables. Snatching the spyglass Denny had borrowed from Chamberlayne—a present from his parents upon joining the militia—Wickham trained his beady eye upon it.

"It is Darcy's valet, wearing an apron and carrying something," he observed.

After begging for the spyglass to be returned, Denny continued to watch but was impatient to be gone. "He is walking towards the dovecote, probably to get Mr Darcy's dinner. Can we go now?"

"Half an hour more," said Wickham and then proceeded to distract Denny by giving him an entirely fictional account of his important business in London.

In truth, Wickham's sudden wish to remove himself temporarily had been prompted by local gossip that Darcy's uncle, the earl, would be attending the ball. Whether there was any truth to the rumour or it was hopeful bibble-babble* seeded by the information that George had recently imparted on Darcy's noble relations at the Lucas's soirée, George had no way to know. He thought it was safest to make himself scarce.

George's half-hour was almost up when Finn re-emerged from the manor house and let loose the pigeon. It headed directly for them and would have flown over their heads. But before Denny knew what was happening, Wickham had taken aim with his musket and felled the bird.

"My God! That was a crack shot!" cried Denny in admiration. "Something like!"

Denny would have immediately stood up, but Wickham held him down. Two of Netherfield's grooms walked out of the stables and looked in their direction.

"Keep low until we are hidden by the crest of the hill," said Wickham, slithering backwards.

"They heard!" said Denny.

"Do not worry," assured Wickham. "They will ascribe it to Bingley and Hurst, even if it was in the wrong direction. People are always willing to believe what is most comfortable."

They retrieved the bird. As Wickham suspected, it was wearing a harness.

"Jiminy!* Pigeon post!" exclaimed Denny as Wickham untied the harness and attempted to extract its contents. "And I thought they just liked squab!"

Wickham, intent on the puzzle of the harness, let this naive comment pass without sarcasm. Finally he found the trick of it and pried the harness open. Inside was a letter addressed to 'Charles B' and four vials filled with a dark substance. George opened one, sniffed it, and covering the rim with his forefinger, tipped it up to smear a little of the substance between his finger and thumb.

"It is blood," Wickham said in puzzlement.

* * *

For the Bennet sisters, the few rainy days leading up to the Netherfield ball seemed longer than a sennight. Any hopes they had of ogling goods in the shops of Meryton before settling on the ribbon or shoe rose they could afford faded with each successive drizzly day. The carriage could not be had—the horses were needed for the farm. For the majority of the girls, to be cooped up with their cousin under such conditions was intolerable. Only Mary was sanguine about their situation, attempting to engage her cousin in a series of theological discussions, which turned out to be of a very restricted nature. Mr Collins had no interest in such philosophy. He very practically drew his liturgical material from his books of sermons, based on topics suggested by Lady Catherine.

Only the appearance of Charlotte every day gave succour. She brought cheer and, when it became obvious that the rain was not going to let up, she even eventually brought the desired ribbons. Her appearance was a pleasant surprise to Elizabeth who had not expected her friend due to the rain—for Charlotte usually travelled to Longbourn on foot. The Lucas carriage was generally employed by her parents in their rounds of visiting. Lady Lucas typically visited Longbourn only once a week, after midday on Thursdays, which in no way suited Charlotte's more frequent timetable. But for once Lady Lucas seemed to think of her eldest daughter—Charlotte was dropped off every morning and picked up in the evening so that she might partake in the Bennets' preparations for the ball.

With the exception of Mary, who deplored the frivolity, all of the sisters had a project, which involved changing the sleeves on a gown, or adding some contrasting ribbons, or some such. Charlotte engaged in all these activities with good-humoured energy—pinning, tacking and smiling all the while. Mr Collins was also an unlikely participant in the preparations. He read to his cousins from Fordyce's sermons and frequently gave his unsolicited opinion when any question arose on colours, placement or modes. His presence was odious and while only Lydia was openly hostile to him, there were several who heartily wished him away and certainly gave him no encouragement. But Charlotte smiled at him occasionally and suggested his views were interesting and novel.

At last the day of the ball arrived and after hours of hair-curling, powdering and primping, the Bennet sisters assembled in the vestibule for their evening of gaiety. Jane's golden curls were admirably set off by her cornflower blue silk dress, the fabric a present from her Aunt Gardiner. She had finished tatting a pair of golden gloves to match. The rest of the sisters were more economically dressed in muslin. Safe from Mr Collins' attentions, Lizzy was looking very fetching in light green, having crocheted a matching beaded necklace to adorn her graceful neck. Mary's blue muslin was worn with a high-necked chemisette but she had eventually bowed to fashion by painting a reticule made from a scrap of Jane's blue silk. Kitty had re-worked her pink gown, which had been lengthened with a flounce and let out to accommodate her expanding chest. What the bodice had gained in width, it had lost in height and she now sported a most pleasing décolletage. However, Lydia's modified lilac gown was deemed too daring even by Mrs Bennet, who made her youngest daughter pin a strip of lace to the top of the bodice, bringing it back within the bounds of propriety. The overwhelmed Mr Collins had to shield his eyes during this operation.

At last Mr Bennet was coaxed to join them from the library in his black silk knee breeches. Eyeing the large ostrich feathers in his wife's turban askance, he gave them all a tight smile and ushered them out the door.

Fortunately the rain had stopped that afternoon, which precluded the making of two trips. The ladies climbed inside, Mr Bennet mounted onto the box, which John Coachman had covered with a hammercloth, and Mr Collins assumed his position on the Dickie seat with a dignified air. Lydia and Kitty could hardly contain their excitement. They punctuated the three-mile journey to Netherfield with a series of giggles and shrieks that eventually drew their father's remonstrance.

At last the manor house was gained, the step let down, and the ladies handed out one by one by their cousin. They were among the last guests to be greeted by the receiving line. Mr Bingley's face lit up as soon as Jane emerged, a fact that did not escape his sister. As Caroline had given her brother a warning lecture that very morning about not being overparticular, she was not pleased. But her efforts proved for nought, for as soon as salutations were exchanged with all the Bennets, Bingley declared it was time they were getting inside and offered Jane his arm. As her brother's hostess, Caroline considered it her prerogative to disband the receiving line and made her point by waiting to greet Mr Denny and Mr Chamberlayne. The junior officers, who normally would not have merited her attention, had been delayed by Denny's tardy arrival back at his lodgings after his earlier surveillance with Wickham.

Lizzy was not surprised by the absence of Mr Darcy or Mr Hurst from the receiving line; neither were known for their social habits. But she knew she was looking particularly fine and had hoped to assuage her hurt feelings from the Assembly by capturing Mr Darcy's attention. She could not get their last meeting out of her head and she thought it was time that Mr Darcy showed publicly that he no longer disdained her. As she followed her sister and Mr Bingley inside, Lizzy assured herself that she did not really care for Bingley's guest, though she had to admit the mysterious Mr Darcy had begun to pique her interest rather than just merely annoy her.

Most of her hopes for the night were pinned on Lieutenant Wickham. It was not as if Jane's warnings had fallen on deaf ears—Lizzy had no serious intentions towards the lieutenant, but she was not averse to a little dalliance. After the Lucases' soirée and the impromptu morning tea at Longbourn, even Jane could not deny that Lieutenant Wickham was first among the officers in beauty and address. If the lieutenant could be gallant towards Lizzy in her dowdy dress, she was sure he could appreciate her in the more pleasing attire she had adopted for the Netherfield ball.

Lizzy had got no further than the vestibule when she was greeted by Charlotte, looking stunning in a maroon silk gown Lizzy had never seen before.

"Charlotte! You look marvellous! Where did you get your dress?"

"Mama brought the silk back from London for me on her last trip with Papa—hoping to do mutton up as lamb*," said Charlotte blushingly. "I tried to give it to Mariah, but Mama pointed out it is not an appropriate colour for a young girl."

"You have stitched it wonderfully! Such a professional job!"

"It was made by a dressmaker in Luton, Lizzy," admitted Charlotte guiltily, knowing the ladies of the Bennet family sewed all their own garb. "I'm afraid I would be scared to even cut silk; terrified of making a mistake with the pattern."

Lizzy was a little surprised by Lady Lucas's sudden largesse. The Lucases generally spent all their money on decorating and entertaining. Poor Charlotte had next to no dowry. As Charlotte was twenty-seven, Lizzy supposed that Lady Lucas had decided on a last ditch effort* to marry her daughter to one of the officers of the militia, though only Captain Carter and Lieutenant Wickham were old enough to be eligible. Poor Charlotte would be guilty of cradle-snatching* with any of the others.

"It looks very well!" said Lizzy generously. Indeed, Charlotte was no beauty, but the colour suited her complexion admirably. "Have you had any appreciative comments?"

Charlotte shrugged. "Colonel Forster complimented me, but I'm afraid he is taken," she said with a mock grimace.

Taking Lizzy's hand, Charlotte pulled her friend into the noisier ballroom and thence into a corner so that they might talk more confidentially. "Have you seen Lieutenant Wickham yet?" asked Lizzy as they went, standing on tiptoes to see above the crowd.

"He is not here," said Charlotte mournfully as they arrived at their destination.

"What?" exclaimed Lizzy in surprise. "But he asked me for the first two dances and the two before supper!"

"Captain Carter just told me. Lieutenant Wickham went off at the last moment on some business to London. He sent his apologies."

Lizzy tried not to seem too disappointed but she was annoyed. Now she was partnerless for the first two dances. Though she thought it likely that she would find another partner for the two before supper, it was too bad to start the evening sitting against the wall. Charlotte was already promised to Mr Harding, the parish constable, who came up to claim her hand as the music started.

Lizzy pressed back against the wall, feeling all the shame of being one of the few unmarried females without a partner. As she watched the lines form, she saw Mr Darcy pair with Miss Bingley at the head of the line. He was not wearing his regular black garb, being instead attired in white stockings and black silk knee breeches, the court dress of her father's generation. Lizzy noticed he had very shapely calves, which had previously been hidden by his boots. His swallow-tail coat was dark blue with none of the embellishments sported by similar coats around him—there were no enormous brass or mother of pearl buttons, just an elegant coat of exquisite cut that framed his broad shoulders nicely. Lizzy was so lost in admiration that she completely failed to notice young Mr Goulding of Haye Park approach.

"Are you free, Miss Elizabeth?" he asked.

"Oh, yes!" said Elizabeth, hardly knowing what she was saying. "It is a nice coat!"

"Why, thank you!" said Mr Goulding, whose coat _did_ sport large mother of pearl buttons. "It is from a London tailor."

Lizzy blushed at being caught daydreaming, but quickly regained her equanimity. She smiled as she was led out to the dance. Mr Goulding was neither handsome nor well spoken, but Lizzy knew he had a kind heart and, unlike Mr Collins who had claimed Kitty as his first partner several days ago, he was not an embarrassment. So she felt she had done very well after being left in the lurch* by Lieutenant Wickham. Mr Goulding, on the other hand, could not believe his luck. Living further away than the majority of the guests, he had had no chance to solicit a partner before the ball and had certainly not expected one of the elder Bennet sisters to be free. He and Lizzy joined the end of the line just in time for the first progression.

After the first two dances, Mr Goulding reclaimed Lizzy's hand to escort her to the punchbowl. He had just passed Lizzy her cup when Mr Darcy appeared at his elbow. Up close, he looked remarkably handsome. His thick, wavy black hair was pomaded to perfection, his immaculately shaved square chin jutted over a snowy white cravat, affixed in a waterfall with a large emerald pin. Elizabeth noticed his eyes flick to the choker at her neck.

"Miss Elizabeth," Darcy said, giving a brisk bow.

Elizabeth's heart gave a little shrill of triumph. Calming herself, she introduced Mr Darcy to Mr Goulding. After exchanging pleasantries, Darcy made no secret of the fact that she was his object. Mr Goulding bowed and went off to seek his next partner.

"Miss Elizabeth, I was hoping that you would introduce me to your father."

Elizabeth's heart sank. "Of course," she replied, trying not to let her disappointment show in her voice.

Looking across the dance floor she saw her father talking to Squire Goulding. They had not yet departed for the card room.

"I was hoping to speak to him of his work on alchemy," added Darcy, now that they were alone.

Elizabeth looked at him curiously. "There is no other topic he would prefer to discuss," she assured him.

Lizzy felt several pairs of eyes turned towards them as they walked across the dance floor together—most notably, Miss Bingley, whose stare might have turned Lizzy to stone. The introduction was made and, as expected, Elizabeth saw her father's eyes light up as Darcy brought up the topic of alchemy. Lizzy had already imparted to her father the information that Mr Darcy was a member of the Royal Society after the Lucases' soirée. She could see her father was gratified to be sought out. When Squire Goulding laughed and absented himself to the card room, Mr Darcy took his place beside Mr Bennet.

Lizzy was distracted when a red uniform appeared at her elbow. A small illogical part of her mind hoped that Lieutenant Wickham had changed his mind and arrived up after all. She turned. It was Captain Carter.

"Miss Elizabeth, are you free for the next two?"

Elizabeth smiled her acquiescence and they chatted inconsequentially with their backs turned to the two gentlemen while they waited for the band to strike up. All the while, Lizzy clutched at snatches of the more interesting conversation behind her. _Royal Society... Lord Pevensey... english alchemists... the Philosopher's Stone._ The music started. _Damn! Just when it was getting interesting!_ Regretfully she took Captain Carter's arm as he escorted her to the dance floor.

The Captain proved a pleasant partner. He danced well and, now he knew her better, chatted amiably. They progressed. Throughout the dance, Elizabeth watched her father and Mr Darcy whenever the steps turned her head in their direction. Her father was getting expansive, gesticulating with his hands, clearly enjoying himself. Darcy listened silently, his head bowed. So it continued. Elizabeth's hand was claimed next by a nervous Chamberlayne, and following that, by Bingley. As a potential brother-in-law in waiting, Elizabeth gave him more of her attention. He spoke entirely of Jane throughout their dance, his eyes shining—so clearly in love.

For the last set before supper, Elizabeth found herself partnerless. As she nursed her glass of punch, a sinking feeling overtook her. Without Lieutenant Wickham a much anticipated night had turned out rather flat. She looked at her sister Jane who was once more dancing with Bingley and tried to partake of her joy but she couldn't quite make the connection. Sighing, Elizabeth returned the empty punch glass to the table, picked up her shawl from a chair and walked out onto the terrace through the French doors.

Why was she so unhappy? Surely Lieutenant Wickham's absence could not have overset her so? No, it was a disappointment but the canker ran deeper. She had always enjoyed a ball for the sheer sport of it, the jumping around. Now she saw it for what it was—an elaborate mating ritual that she wanted no part of. Why had the shine worn off? Her cousin's proposal? Definitely that had been sickening. Or had it been Mr Darcy's insult at the assembly? She had never been snubbed by a gentleman before...

Thinking herself alone and endeavouring to shake off her gravity, Elizabeth began to hum softly. But it was a sad song— Greensleeves.* There was a movement in the shadows and Mr Darcy stepped forward into the light streaming from the ballroom.

"Oh!" said Elizabeth. "I thought you were still talking to my father! I mean, I thought I was alone."

"I did not wish to importune him too long," replied Darcy. In truth, he had escaped shortly after Mr Collins had joined their group and begged Mr Bennet for an introduction. The parson had begun to fawn over Darcy in a most embarrassing way, drawing Darcy's attention to their connection via Lady Catherine.

"Trust me, he can talk about the subject without a reply for hours. He was probably as happy as a sandboy*... I beg your pardon... as a pig in mud."

Darcy hid a smile by biting his lips. "You have no brothers. Where do you get your cant?" he asked.

"Charlotte's brothers mostly, via Charlotte. Don't tell anyone I said that," she added belatedly. "Charlotte wouldn't like it."

"Of course not. Thank you for keeping my secret of the other night."

"Oh! Think nothing if it! Have you had any luck with the chicken thief?"

"I think he has gone, whoever he was," said Darcy honestly. "The thefts seemed to have stopped."

"Maybe they were deterred by my shot? Are you sure it was not a fox?"

"Yes. Foxes cannot open gates."

"Ah! So what are you doing out in the dark here now?"

Darcy gestured and Elizabeth saw he had a cigarillo between his fingers.

"It is not lit," she pointed out.

Darcy looked at her strangely. "It goes out if you do not draw on it sometimes," he said, sticking it between his teeth and fumbling in his pocket.

Lizzy looked at the end of the cigarillo. It looked like it had never been lit. She judiciously decided to say nothing.

Darcy withdrew a small tin, unscrewed the lid, withdrew a short stick and, transferring the cigarillo to his hand, bit down on the little stick. With an alarming hiss, it flared into a sputtering flame, lighting his face in a macabre way.

"My God!" said Lizzy, jumping. "What is that?"

"A sugar match," he said, lighting the cigarillo and stubbing the match out on the balustrade.

"May I see?" asked Lizzy.

"You won't be able to see much," Darcy said. "It is just a burnt stick. Better if you look at a whole one."

He lay the cigarillo on the balustrade and retrieved the tin once more from his pocket, fishing out one of the little sticks to hand to her. It had a thin strip of paper wound round one end.

"Better if we peel this off," he said, loosening the paper.

Underneath, there was a small glass bulb attached to the stick.

"The bulb contains sulphuric acid and is coated with a mixture of

potassium chlorate and sugar. Crushing the bulb mixes the two components and ignites the surrounding paper."

"But with your teeth?" asked Lizzy in horror.

Darcy did not say that he typically used his fingers. "One generally uses scissors but they are cumbersome to carry round."

"Fascinating," said Lizzy, handing it back. "I was just reading the other day how to make various acids: aqua regis and dragon's blood."

"Dragon's blood?" asked Darcy, looking up from his task of loosely wrapping the strip of paper round the denuded match. He would get Finn to fix it later—the matches were made exclusively for Darcy and were expensive.

"It sounds very exotic, does it not? I suppose it is, for it is gold dissolved in aqua regis."

"I was aware that it is difficult to dissolve gold but was not aware that the solution is called dragon's blood."

"The acid must be made fresh. It must be heated and the solution replenished until it goes to completion."

"And how much gold have you dissolved to date?" enquired Darcy.

Elizabeth laughed. "None. I have only the chain of my ruby cross and am rather loath to part with it."

Darcy directed a penetrating glance at her and Elizabeth realised for the first time that he was looking into her eyes instead of staring at her neck.

"I suppose I had better go back inside," she said, a little breathless.

"May I take you to supper?" Darcy asked.

Elizabeth's glance fell once again on his cigarillo. He had not taken a single puff.

Darcy saw the direction of her gaze. "I can smoke this at any time," he said and almost stubbed it out on his palm before catching himself.

"Very well," Elizabeth replied.

Darcy carefully stubbed out the cigarillo on the balustrade and offered his arm to escort her back inside. That was his mistake.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*pull the wool over his eyes - deceive him

*bibble-babble* - idle talk

*Jiminy - an expression of surprise, an alteration of Gemini used as a mild oath in the mid 17th century, a euphemistic form of Jesus (Christ).

*do mutton up as lamb - dress an older woman in fashions more appropriate for the young

*Last ditch—the use of "last ditch" to indicate extremity is much older than World War I-but so is the use of ditches or trenches on the battlefield. The OED gives examples of some uses of it. OED, s.v. ditch: "to die in the last ditch, to die, resisting to the last (see DIE v.1 3); so to be driven to the last ditch, i.e. to the utmost extremities... a1715 To die in the last ditch

*left in the lurch — left in an difficult position without help. The phrase originates from the French board game of lourche or lurch, which was similar to backgammon and was last played in the 17th century (the rules having now been lost). Players suffered a lurch if they were left in a hopeless position from which they couldn't win the game. The card game of cribbage, or crib, also has a 'lurch' position which players may be left in if they don't progress half way round the peg board before the winner finishes.

cradle-snatching* - marrying a person much younger than oneself. Perjorative. It would only have been applied to men when the age difference was huge eg a 60 year-old man marrying a debutante. For women, only a few years would have earned them the title.

*Greensleeves - Alas my love you do me wrong

To cast me off discourteously...

*happy as a sandboy - sandboys carted sand, thirsty work. They drank a lot of ale, for water was not sanitary, and were frequently lightly intoxicated and merry.


	19. The rake

**My apologies for the long gap in posting. I had a mild dose of the flu. Three days without even being able to read! Thank God for audiobooks.**

 **Suggestions for the title of Chapter 18 were:**

 **"A fowl deed" by _Deanna27_ ,**

 **"Escape strategies" by _katzenpfote_ ,**

 **"Espionage and the ball" by _romanticsoul49_ ,**

 **"The Trouble With Pigeons" by _Dizzy Lizzy.60,_**

 **"Spy", "Wool Over the Eyes" or "Hidden Sparks" by _Chica de Los Ojas Café,_**

 **"Bird Spying" (double meaning: pigeons and women), and "Dancing Around" by _LotsOfLaundry_ ,**

 **"Chemistry" by _Windchimed_ ,**

 **"Strike a Match," Or "Hey, are You Gonna Smoke That?" By _YepItsMe_ ,**

 **"Something fishy" or "Dangerous match" by _Laure SaintYves_ ,**

 **"The Shine's Gone", "Regency Dating Game", "Dragon's Blood", "Strike a Sugar Match", "Dovecote Harness",** **"Fantastic Science" by _SacredWoman2K_ ,**

 **"Dancing Delights" by _Anita1788_.**

 **I loved "A fowl deed", _Deanna27_. You are not perhaps a sub-editor by trade? I decided to go with "Where there's smoke" inspired by your entries, _YepItsMe_.**

* * *

 **Chapter 19 The rake**

Lizzy was a little vague about what happened next. She had lightly clasped Mr Darcy's arm in the customary fashion, which had made her appreciate just how tall he was. The next moment he had whirled around her, lifted her slippers off the ground and jumped the balcony. Ordinarily, being abducted should have been rather alarming—a girl with her wits about her would have screamed. Lizzy had no idea whether she had or not. All she could remember was suddenly finding herself clasped in Mr Darcy's arms as he loped through the night at what seemed an incredible speed. She supposed it must have been the weird combination of the darkness and her sleepiness—the wind rushing past her face made her feel as if she were flying. Laying her head against Mr Darcy's chest and closing her eyes, she breathed the wonderful scent of his fresh sweat and momentarily felt content as she was rocked in his arms by his gait.

Suddenly he seemed to launch himself into the air. His arms loosened around her and she found herself laid down upon something soft. It was only as the warmth of his body pressed down upon her that she discovered what she was lying upon to be also rather prickly. His breath caressed her neck. He grasped her upper arms firmly, pressing down upon her. She heard a snap, felt the pressure of her choker on her neck suddenly released, just as a prickle pierced her dress and poked into the skin of her back.

"Ow!" she cried.

In a blink he was gone. Elizabeth sat up, feeling rather dazed. Her choker fell into her lap and some beads rolled forward onto her dress. Grabbing the loose pearls before they should roll away, Lizzy felt a sharp edge and held the bead up in the moonlight. It was snapped clean in two.

Looking about herself in the moonlight, Lizzy discovered she was sitting on the top of a hayrick. Mr Darcy was nowhere to be seen. With a dawning sense of reality, Lizzy realised what had occurred. Mr Darcy had abducted her and spirited her off from the ball! Feeling a growing sense of shame, Lizzy realised she had not resisted at all. She began to shake nervously, less from fright—she assured herself—and more from the sudden change in her circumstances. These delayed spasms were quickly suppressed as her temper flared. Just who did he think he was, making off with damsels to have his way with them? Moreover, where had he now gone and why?

After a minute or two sitting alone in her abandonment with no one to rail against, Elizabeth's indignation was replaced by more practical considerations. Presumably he had gone off to get something; intended to return; thought he had imprisoned her by setting her atop the hayrick. She needed to get away. If she could be off before he returned, Lizzy thought she could probably evade him in the dark. She realised she could hear the music from the ball and spotted the manor house some distance off through the leaves of an interposed tree. But how was she to get down and back there? Could she do so before the ball finished and thus preserve her reputation?

She stuffed the fragments of her necklace in her pocket and briefly considered her slippers. They would be ruined by the run back, but it was probably safer to leave them on than run barefoot. She would just have to be careful that she kept them hidden under her gown when she returned, no more dancing—if indeed, there would be any time for that—and she had better stand against the wall rather than sit, unless she could find a low chair that would allow her gown to drape on the floor.

She crawled as far as she dared to the edge of the haystack—where it began to tilt dangerously downwards—and peered towards the ground. It seemed a long way and she could see no ladder. Had he taken it away? Just as she was beginning to despair, she remembered as a child spending an afternoon with the hay workers, sliding off the hayricks as they were building them, and thought she could do something similar. She had never slid off a complete stack as she had seen the young men do. She hoped she would not break her leg or tear her gown, but there was nothing for it—she must get down.

Lizzy sat on her bottom and was stretching her gown out beneath her, wondering if she should hold it taut, when she felt the hay shift slight beneath her suddenly and an accompanying sound behind her. Her head snapped round just as Mr Darcy's head appeared above the hay. He seemed to be standing on a ladder.

"So this is what you do at night!" flared Elizabeth, eyeing him warily. "Cart off unsuspecting maidens to have your way with them?"

"No!" blurted Darcy, before thinking better of it. What was he going to do—admit that he was a vampire to her?

There was a pause as Elizabeth stared belligerently at him, daring him to make a move.

"I mean... yes," he amended softly. "I am truly sorry. I have never touched a gentleman's daughter before."

This show of contrition surprised Elizabeth and she quickly sought to gain the upper hand*. "Oh?" she snarled. "So it's the peasantry, is it? You ought to be ashamed!"

"I am!" said Darcy earnestly. "And if you wish me to marry you, I completely understand and will do so." He supposed he could set her up in the house he had inherited from his great aunt in Somerset. At such a distance from either of his residences in London and Derbyshire she should be safe.

"Marry a rake! I would rather marry my cousin!" Elizabeth declared hotly, but she shuddered as she said it, as it was fundamentally untrue.

"Please accept my sincere apologies," said Darcy. "I don't know what came over me, but we must get you back before anyone notices you are gone."

"That," said Elizabeth indignantly, "at least, we agree upon!"

Darcy held out his hand to assist her but she spurned it. He climbed backwards down several rungs of the ladder to allow her to approach. She let him guide her feet to the top rung and steady her until she had both hands on the uprights. Then he carefully looked to the side as she climbed down after him.

On reaching the ground, she brushed down her skirts and looked off at the manor house in the distance ruefully. Giving him one last disdainful glance, she headed off towards it.

"It would be quicker if I carried you again," he offered.

"Ooh, no!" Elizabeth replied and kept on walking, thinking that at least she was lucky that the dew had not yet fallen.

"Please!" he begged. "You can get on my back and..." He looked wildly around and, spotting a rake leaning against an empty hay rack, offered it to her. "You can take this for protection."

Elizabeth looked at him with incredulity. "Get on your back and brain you with a rake if you misbehave? I will likely kill you!"

"You may be doing the community a service," Darcy replied seriously.

Elizabeth could only stare at him for a moment. He seemed to be truly contrite. Then she looked at the distant manor house and thought of her silk slippers and the hem of her muslin gown. "Very well," she said, holding her hand out for the rake.

Darcy crouched down as Elizabeth climbed on his back, steadying herself with the handle of the rake as he rose slowly to his full height.

"Ready?" he asked.

She lifted the rake and rested the handle down his back as she clutched his shoulders with both hands. "Yes," she replied.

He started running—gently at first, before lengthening his stride. In the pale moonlight, the wind rushed passed her face. It was strangely exhilarating. _Why does it feel so energising at night?_ wondered Elizabeth. They seemed to be going at an incredible speed but she supposed it was only the effect of the darkness—there was hardly time to recognise anything as objects loomed suddenly in the gloom before disappearing in the distance—trees, fences, rabbits—all gone in a flash. Without meaning to, she burst out laughing in what sounded disturbingly like a cackle.

"What?" he asked without pausing.

"I feel like a witch on her broom," she said, twitching the rake.

"You are a very different girl," said Darcy.

Elizabeth was insulted—she wasn't a debutante and she didn't like being called 'different'. "Nobody asked your opinion," she retorted.

The remainder of the distance was travelled in silence. Darcy skirted the manor house to arrive at the terrace steps near the library, where he crouched down to let Elizabeth alight. After her feet touched the ground, she took several steps backwards quickly, grasping the rake in her hands like a quarterstaff. Darcy stood slowly and turned around, also taking several steps backwards and holding his breath.

"Miss Bingley has set aside the billiards room as the ladies retiring room," he offered helpfully.

Elizabeth was for once at a loss for words. She felt she should scold him again but the fight had gone out of her. Nonetheless, she did not feel she owed him a thank you for the piggy-back ride—the need for it had entirely been created by him. So she gave him a curt nod and turned to go.

"Wait!" he said.

Reluctantly she turned back towards him.

"There is some hay on the back of your dress," he said, stepping forward quickly and plucking something from her back.

"Ooh!" Elizabeth fumed and marched up the steps.

Taking one last look to ensure he had not crept up behind her, Lizzy tested the door and, finding it unlocked, set the rake beside it before stepping inside. A single candle burned in the library next to the hearth. Elizabeth had already closed the door before she realised that Mr Darcy's valet was sitting in the wing chair by the fire reading a book, which gave her a bit of a fright. He looked around briefly as she entered and just as quickly returned to his book upon recognising her. Elizabeth took this as a sign that there was no conspiracy between him and his master and hurried through the room.

On hearing the hall door open and close, Finn lowered his book and stared after Elizabeth in puzzlement. Pursing his lips, he put the volume down on a side table and got up to investigate. He had not taken two steps towards the terrace door when it opened again and Darcy entered.

"Finn!" Darcy urged. "My black clothes, quickly!"

"Sir, what has happened?"

"I fear the bottled blood I took before the ball was not enough, Finn. I need to feed directly before I do any harm."

Darcy's valet quickly locked the hall door and produced his master's black clothes, which he had prepared for after the ball. Finn was rather disappointed by the fact that Darcy, for the third time, had not made it through an evening function. Since his return from the Continent, Darcy had not been attending Almack's as his aunt Lady Matlock desired, only frequenting the evening lectures of the Royal Society where he was unlikely to find a bride. Finn had hoped his master's repairing lease in Hertfordshire might ease him back into society.

"Are you aware that Miss Elizabeth just walked through here, sir?" asked Finn as he carefully removed Darcy's emerald cravat pin.

"Yes, Finn," said Darcy as he began to hurriedly divest himself of his ball clothes. "I brought her here. I absconded with her from the balcony off the ballroom."

Finn was left momentarily speechless, holding Darcy's swallowtail coat. With a frown he noticed a hay straw near the hem as he draped it across the back of a Hepplewhite chair.

"As you see," said Darcy, "I have not harmed her but it was a near run thing. I was talking to her on the balcony. Perhaps that was unwise. She came out of the ballroom during the last set to get some air, as I had done earlier. Everything seemed fine, but I was conscious that we were out there alone and when she chose to linger I offered to escort her back inside. I do not know what happened next. I vaguely remember running. But I do know that I attempted to draw blood from her neck. I bit her necklace instead, realised what I was doing and sprang backwards, falling some thirty feet to the ground."

"Are you hurt, sir?" asked Finn as he divested Darcy of his new hessians.

Darcy sighed in exasperation. "Would it not be more pertinent to ask if Miss Elizabeth is all right?"

"Well, that too, sir," said Finn as he untied the waist of Darcy's silk knee breeches. "Was the necklace her cross?"

"I told you that is nonsense, Finn," said Darcy, pulling off the breeches, "and it was not. It was a crocheted necklace. I believe I bit one of the pearls."

"Do you think she can be trusted to keep quiet, sir?" asked Finn as he held out a more serviceable pair of black breeches.

"I offered her marriage, Finn," said Darcy, causing Finn to raise his eyebrows. "But she declined." Finn's eyes were now as round as the moon. "She seems to think that my nightly excursions... In short, she believes I am a rake and wants no truck* with me."

"I see. So it is in her best interests to keep quiet," Finn said, holding out the pair of hessians Darcy had 'ruined' after the Meryton Assembly.

"I do not know about 'best interests', Finn," said Darcy, whose initial relief at having his marriage offer rejected was now giving way to his vanity. "I suppose her interpretation of our few unusual meetings is a natural one, but it irks me that she thinks I am a reprobate while George is pulling the wool over her eyes."

Finn nodded sympathetically as he tied Darcy's black silk cravat into a hasty waterfall and tucked it inside his waistcoat. Then Darcy pulled on a looser tailcoat than the formfitting one he had worn to the ball and was off into the warm night without further ado.

* * *

Elizabeth made it to the ladies' retiring room without being seen, thanking God for her good luck when she found it empty. She had been sure she would find Kitty and Lydia loitering there trading secrets and be set upon by their inquisition. On a large cloth covering the billiard table were a variety of reticules, pelisses and shawls. Glancing around, Elizabeth spotted a cheval mirror and hurried towards it. It was with great relief she discovered her appearance to be mostly tidy. She set about trying to rectify the slight disorder of her hair from the front, but it was difficult to assess its state at the back without a second mirror. She had a small mirror in her reticule but unfortunately she had left that in the ballroom.

A familiar voice was heard in the hall, the swishing of a skirt. The door opened and there was Jane.

"Oh, Lizzy! There you are! Is this not wonderful?" Jane chirped.

Lizzy smiled in sympathy at her sister's radiant face as Jane hurried behind the screen to use the chamber pot. She inspected the hem of her gown and her slippers, which appeared relatively unscathed, until Jane emerged.

"Can you help me, Jane? My hair is a little untidy at the back."

"Certainly," said Jane, hurrying up and beginning to poke the hot iron curls back into place with her fingers. "There! You must have been dancing with some vigour! But where is your necklace?"

"Oh! I broke it. It must have been too tight," said Lizzy with some inner turmoil. She did not think now the correct time or place to reveal her strange adventure.

"A pity," said Jane, checking her hair in the mirror, "but you can make it up again. If it was that tight, you would have had to take it off to eat. Have you had any supper?"

The sisters were about to leave the retiring room when a dismayed exclamation from Jane indicated something else was amiss. "What is it, Jane?" asked Lizzy, freezing, afraid there might be some horrid rent in the back of her gown she had failed to detect.

"Oh, nothing!" soothed Jane, before amending, "Just a trifle! There is a snag on the back of your dress. But fear not! I have a needle in my reticule and will push it through," she said, pulling her sister back into the room.

Lizzy turned to glare at the offending thread in the long mirror while Jane fished in her reticule for the needle. It looked to be suspiciously in the region where Mr Darcy had plucked the hay straw from her dress. "Men!" she muttered sotto voce*.

Jane's nimble fingers quickly effected the fix and they returned together to rejoin the dance. As soon as they emerged into the ballroom, Bingley stepped from beside a pillar to claim Jane's hand, a gratifying circumstance that caused the eldest Miss Bennet to blush charmingly. Lizzy could only be thankful that her nocturnal excursion had escaped detection. But the night air had given her an appetite. She wended her way to the supper room, counselling herself to be prepared for disappointment as she watched the other guests leaving. Fortunately, Miss Bingley had ensured there was plenty of food to spare. But by the time Lizzy sat down with her plate of sandwiches and her glass of punch, she was forced to attach herself to the single occupied table remaining where her mother lingered, holding sway over her satellites. Lizzy thus had to endure listening to Mrs Bennet's bragging of an impending match between Jane and Mr Bingley.

Several attempts by Lizzy to turn the narrative of her mother's discourse were briskly swept aside by Mrs Bennet. Finally Lizzy had the mortification of seeing Caroline and Louisa sweep into the room to give final instructions to the servants clearing up. Despite the Bingley sisters apparent preoccupation with their task, a pause on Caroline's part, an exchange of glances between the sisters, made it all too obvious they had heard Mrs Bennet's crowing.

The rest of the ball passed in a haze for Elizabeth. She danced once or twice more but her thoughts were elsewhere—out in the moonlight, on top of a hayrick. A weird sense of unreality gripped her. Were it not for the broken necklace in her pocket, which she occasionally touched to reassure herself that it had all been true, she might have doubted her sanity. She occasionally scanned the ballroom for Mr Darcy, but by the time the Bennet carriage had been called for their departure he had made no reappearance. Lizzy judged it for the best—a further meeting could only cause embarrassment.

It was only when she picked up her reticule from the seat where she had left it that Lizzy realised she had misplaced her shawl. Miss Bingley, who was anxious to get rid of them, assured her that it would no doubt turn up and would be sent to Longbourn in the morning. But it was with a dawning sense of dread that Lizzy realised that she had been wearing it about her shoulders when she was talking to Mr Darcy on the balcony. In all likelihood the shawl was sitting on top of a hayrick on the Netherfield estate! Just imagine the scandal that might be precipitated when it was found! After thinking her adventure had gone undetected, Lizzy felt quite sick with dread.

* * *

Filled with a deep disgust of himself and something bordering on despair, Darcy watched from the shadows as the Bennet carriage was the last to rattle away into the night. Was there no normalcy to be found in his life anymore? Could he no longer trust himself to do the right thing? Clearly, he could not and just as clearly Elizabeth Bennet was making dangerous inroads on his self-control. He did not know what it was about her: her blood, her maidenly charms, her... differences—for there was no denying she _was_ different. Whatever it was, he needed to take himself far away from her.

Sighing, Darcy let himself into the library where he found Finn once more reading in front of the fire.

"Ah! There you are, sir! Feeling better?"

"Yes," said Darcy pensively, "and no."

Finn raised an eyebrow.

"I need to get away, Finn. I cannot trust myself within running distance of Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

Finn was glad to see that the master was finally speaking sense. "A wise decision, sir, and one that is very timely in light of other circumstances."

"Other circumstances?" frowned Darcy.

"Today, after I released the pigeon, I thought I heard a shot. When I had a spare moment, I walked out in the afternoon to investigate and found the bird dead."

"Did not Hurst and Bingley go shooting this morning? It was probably just an unfortunate error."

"I do not think so, sir. The bird was not killed by shot, but pierced by a musket ball. Furthermore I found the harness opened and your letter and vials gone."

Darcy was perturbed, trying to remember exactly what he had written in the letter. He always wrote circumspectly, but it was nonetheless disturbing that his correspondence had been intercepted.

"Do you think it was Wickham?" asked Darcy who could think of none other who could have an interest in his affairs.

"Yes," said Finn and held out a shiny brass button such as those found on militia uniforms. "I found this in some trampled grass nearby."

Darcy took it and inspected it in the candlelight. "Very well, Finn. We must move on. I believe I should visit my sister in Hampstead. My time at Netherfield is at an end."

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*Gain/get the upper hand - to gain the advantage. The upper hand loosely means 'above' The first example of 'upper hand' found in print is from The English And Scottish Popular Ballads, collected by Francis Child and published by him in 1882 refers to social status. The ballad in question is Little Musgrave and Lady Barnard, which Child believed to have originated around 1600:

"A grave, a grave," Lord Barnard cryd,

" 'To put these lovers in;

But lay my lady on the upper hand,

For she came of the better kin."

*no truck - early French word 'troque', which meant 'an exchange; a barter' and came into Middle English as 'truke'. In the 17th century and onward, the meaning of 'truck' was extended to include 'association'/'communication'. The negative form became dominant ' in the 19th century. To 'have no truck with' came to be a general term for 'have nothing to do with'. An example of that is cited in the Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, 1834:

Theoretically an officer should have no truck with thieves. Trucking' was also country slang for 'courting'/'dallying with.

*sotto voce - under her breath


	20. Left behind

**Suggestions for the title of chapter 19 were:**

 **"A Roll in the Hay" by _Windchimed_ ,**

 **"Needle in the haystack or hayrick", "Rake from a rake",**

 **"Magic carpet ride", "Run like the wind" by _Sacredwoman2K_ ,**

 **"Unallayed Hunger" by _Clara84_ ,**

 **"Fast and Furious" and "Rakes" by _LotsOfLaundry_ ,**

 **"No Trucks With You!" by _Chica De Los Ojas Cafe_ ,**

 **"Bewitched" or "Like a witch on her broom" by _Laura SaintYves_ ,**

 **"The Rake's Progress" by _quickthorn_ ,**

 **"Saved by the Bead" by _Deanna27_ ,**

 **"The Snag" by _Dizzy Lizzy.60,_**

 **"Carried Away" by _Missouri Walker_ ,**

 **"Sinner or saint, runner or rake?", or "Run, run, run" (which are part of the lyrics from the, unrelated, WW2 song "Run, rabbit, run") by _austen16_.**

 **I know "Run, rabbit, run", _austen16_. They used it in a tourist ad for Victoria. It's on YouTube, just google the name with "Victoria".**

 **I was very tempted by "Bewitched" by _Laure SaintYves_ but ultimately I decided to go with "The rake". There were several suggestions on this theme, the first being by _Sacredwoman2K_.**

* * *

 **Chapter 20 Left behind**

At Longbourn, breakfast at midday saw Mrs Bennet revisiting Jane's triumph over Mr Bingley's heart. She was so engrossed in this activity that she completely failed to notice the absence of Mr Collins at the breakfast table. Not so Mary, who had hoped to follow up her stunning success in dancing twice with Mr Collins at the ball with a tête-à-tête over toast. Mr Bennet commiserated with his middle daughter, chuckling at his cousin's lack of stamina.

"It would appear that we have exhausted your cousin," the squire observed to his family as he folded his napkin and retreated to his study.

But when Mr Collins failed to make an appearance by afternoon tea, an enquiry to Hill exposed the family's error.

"Mr Collins? Oh, no, ma'am. He had breakfast early, before anyone else came down. I believe he went off to Meryton."

Mrs Bennet was truly puzzled. "To Meryton? What can he be wanting in Meryton?"

Nobody knew. And with the exception of Mary, nobody much cared. Everyone was busy recounting their splendid evening—all except Elizabeth who was waiting for an opportunity to get Jane alone so that she divulge the secret of her own evening. Alas, no opportunity presented itself. Mrs Bennet stuck to them like glue, alternately crowing of Jane's triumph and sighing happily over how beautiful her eldest daughter was—she knew it could not have been for nothing!

The arrival late in the afternoon of a footman from Netherfield caused Mrs Bennet much gratification. He delivered two parcels, one addressed to Jane and the other, surprisingly, to Mr Bennet, but did not stop for a reply.

The parcel to Jane yielded a letter from Caroline and Lizzy's shawl, much to her relief.

"Oh, Lizzy, you left it in the billiards room," explained Jane on reading the open paragraph of her missive. "Do you not remember?"

Lizzy shook her head quite honestly but was profoundly relieved that the wayward shawl had been returned without scandal.

The truth, had she known it, was that after quenching his thirst, Darcy had returned to the top of the hayrick to ponder, with shaking limbs, his near miss with Miss Elizabeth. Upon climbing down, he had discovered the shawl near the base of the ladder and thanked God that he, and no one else, had discovered it. Tying it round his waist like a cummerbund, Darcy had run back to the manor house with it concealed beneath his buttoned coat. He had not been in time to unobtrusively return it to Miss Elizabeth's possession before she left for the evening. But after carefully ridding the shawl of a few errant hay straws, Finn had managed to deposit it surreptitiously in the billiard room in the wee hours, where it was found by the maids the next morning with a few other items lost by guests.

Jane had retreated to the window to read the rest of her letter and when she was not immediately forthcoming on the remainder of its contents, Mrs Bennet felt obliged to prompt her daughter for news.

Jane turned an ashen face towards her mother and, in a barely audible voice, explained: "The Bingleys have returned to London, Mama. Caroline thinks it unlikely they will ever return to Netherfield. She finds that country living does not suit her..." managed Jane, fighting back tears.

"What!" shrieked Mrs Bennet. "Without so much as a by-your-leave? They are gone already?"

Jane nodded numbly and folded the letter in her hands where Lizzy plucked it from her sister's grasp, seeing their mother was by no means satisfied with this explanation. Knowing her sister not fit for further interrogation and receiving her permission to acquaint herself with its contents by a nod, Lizzy scanned the missive while stroking her sister's forearm with her free hand.

"Mr Darcy had to go off to visit his sister in Hampstead," Lizzy further explained. "And Charles decided to accompany him part of the way, for he had urgent business to attend to in London. The ladies decided to return to Hurst's townhouse in Grosvenor Street, so that Charles would not have to stay at a 'comfortless hotel'."

"Well, I am sure I could find some comfort at the likes of Claridges!" declared Mrs Bennet sourly before launching into a long diatribe on the flighty ways of youth these days.

Wishing to escape her mother's effusions, Lizzy handed the letter over to her mother and encouraged Jane outside to get some fresh air in the garden. They walked the paths in silence for some time while Jane mastered her emotions and Lizzy gloomily concluded she had precipitated the whole event—for was she likely not responsible for Mr Darcy's flight, which had served as the excuse for the departure of the others? She had no wish now to share her adventure with Mr Darcy or ask Jane's advice on just how she should handle their next meeting—there would be no next meeting. He was gone. In the end, Lizzy could only console herself that if the Bingleys had not gone today, they would have gone tomorrow. But she felt sorry for the perceived slight to her sister. It had been very wrong of Mr Bingley to make so much of Jane and then to leave without even saying goodbye.

The contents of Mr Bennet's letter remained secret a while longer. On the two eldest sisters' descending for dinner, Mr Hill advised Lizzy that she was wanted briefly in Mr Bennet's study. Having been caught up in Jane's grief, Lizzy had completely forgotten about the second letter until, upon letting herself into the study, she was greeted with the following exclamation by her father:

"Well, Lizzy, you seemed to have impressed the illustrious Mr Darcy!"

Already feeling off balance by the day's events, Lizzy blanched at this unexpected compliment. A pit opened briefly in her stomach when she recalled Mr Darcy's marriage proposal of the previous night and she trembled lest he had advised Mr Bennet of their scandalous outing and repeated his offer to her father. But just as quickly she reassured herself that Mr Darcy was unlikely to have decamped while things hung in the balance.

"How so?" she managed.

"Mr Darcy sends gifts," said Mr Bennet. "Oh, so very proper by directing them through me! What a stickler for propriety!"

Lizzy returned a sickly smile.

"Firstly, some sugar matches. Apparently, he has these made to order. I tried one, as he encouraged me to do, crushing it with a nutcracker. Very spectacular!" said Mr Bennet, handing over the tin. "Please don't burn down the house with them!"

Lizzy accepted the tin silently.

"Secondly, a golden guinea*—to make dragon's blood, no less! Better open the windows in the still room before you attempt that one!" And so saying, Mr Bennet handed over the coin.

Lizzy stared at it stupidly.

"Well, well! What do you say then?" Mr Bennet chuckled.

"Thank you?" ventured Lizzy, unsure what to make of this bizarre interlude.

"Off you go then," said Mr Bennet dismissively before muttering to himself, "Why is it that all the interesting people do not stay long?" as Lizzy closed the door.

Lizzy shook her head in bewilderment as she pushed the golden guinea into her pocket and made her way to the dining room. _Interesting people?_ Yes, she supposed Mr Darcy was interesting in a dangerous kind of way that her father had no idea of—Papa only liked him because of his perceived interest in alchemy. she realised her legs were shaking again. Oh she was glad he was gone—upsetting her equanimity!

Mr Collins had returned to Longbourn for dinner with a sparkling eye and a flushed countenance. Lizzy was at a loss to understand his subsequent strange behaviour. He seemed to be almost bubbling over with excitement; talked of the happy conclusion of his trip to Hertfordshire and his eagerness to return to Kent and Lady Catherine. Lizzy gathered from his constant praise of Sir William and Lady Lucas that he had spent the day at Lucas Lodge and imbibed a significant quantity of wine in the process.

Their cousin left in the morning in a hired chaise, departing early so that he might complete the trip in one day and not go to the extra expense of hiring accommodation. Mrs Bennet did not get up to see him off but Lizzy and Jane made the effort for the sake of politeness, and Mary exerted herself in the hope of a last minute declaration. Mrs Hill had packed him a small picnic hamper for breakfast. Mr Collins smiled and waved as the carriage traversed the sweep, promising to take up Mrs Bennet's offer for a return visit as soon as Lady Catherine could spare him.

As soon as the chaise disappeared through the front gates, Jane and Lizzy retired to the breakfast parlour, leaving Mary to contemplate the dust settling in her cousin's wake alone.

The source of Mr Collins' happiness was revealed when Charlotte arrived for her usual daily visit, having missed the day after the Netherfield Ball. Lizzy had just abandoned the still room after filling it with acrid gas in her first attempts to dissolve the guinea.

"Lizzy!" cried Charlotte as she coughed and spluttered. "What on earth are you doing?"

"Making dragon's blood," replied Lizzy calmly as she pulled Charlotte further into the garden.

After the obligatory explanation that—no, Lizzy had not captured or killed a dragon—Charlotte was satisfied, or at least as satisfied as one can be to discover that your friend, whom you had thought to be perfectly sane, had just dissolved a golden guinea for no other good reason than to demonstrate that it could be done.

"Lizzy," begged Charlotte with a final cough. "I need your help."

"You know you will always have it," replied Lizzy reassuringly.

"Lizzy, I am engaged to Mr Collins and I need you to help me break the news to your family."

Lizzy was aghast. "Charlotte, you cannot be serious! You cannot have thought this through very carefully."

But Charlotte assured her that she had—that at twenty-seven she was unlikely to get a better offer. After mastering her initial emotions, Lizzy reluctantly agreed to help and fell to contemplating the manner in which to apprise her family. They decided it would be best done after Charlotte had departed for the day. Lizzy rued the uncomfortable position in which she had been placed, for as the sister who had rejected Mr Collins' olive branch to the Bennets, she knew she would be blamed for the whole debacle. But she was glad Charlotte had convinced Mr Collins not to break the news himself, as he had apparently been very keen to do. Lizzy trembled to think of her mother's unguarded reaction and the subsequent likely permanent breach with their cousin.

After Charlotte left for the day, with heat and more aqua regis, the guinea was dissolved into an orange solution. During this operation Lizzy had plenty of time to contemplate the spitefulness of her odious cousin, in shifting his interests so quickly elsewhere when Mary had obviously been quite willing to contemplate his courtship.

The scene over dinner was awful. Lizzy had hoped that the presence of her father might dampen her mother's wrath, but he got up to leave before the dessert was even put on the table. Mr Bennet did not like to have his equanimity disturbed.

When Charlotte arrived the next day, Mrs Bennet declared she should not be allowed in the house. Lizzy went out to meet her friend so that they might wander the lanes together under leaden skies.

But Charlotte did not give up visiting and fortunately her arrival on the following day coincided with that of several officers of the militia who had ridden from Meryton to call. In welcoming them, Mrs Bennet was unable to politely exclude Miss Lucas, and thus the initial breach was mended. The officers included Denny and Lieutenant Wickham. It was not until the visitors retired with the ladies to the garden that Lizzy had a chance to privately take the lieutenant to task for his failure to arrive at the Netherfield Ball.

"What about my two dances?" asked Lizzy in mock indignation.

"Please accept my humble apologies," replied Lieutenant Wickham with an ingratiating smile. "Some urgent business came up in London that could not be delayed and I was forced to post up there immediately. I hope you will let me repair the deficit at the next assembly?"

Lizzy smiled and all was forgiven.

"And now," continued Wickham, "I see we have lost the company of the illustrious Mr Darcy and his party. I rode over late yesterday to submit my apologies to the Bingleys only to discover the place deserted. Their flight from the district so immediately after the ball was rather strange. I do hope my arrival in the district has nor spoiled your sister's chances with Mr Bingley. I fear Mr Darcy's conscience was pricked by my presence."

Lizzy shrugged her shoulders slightly, knowing the truth to be far more complicated, with her own excursion with Mr Darcy and the Bingley sisters' plans for their brother playing a major part. She thought it curious that the Lieutenant believed himself to be at the centre of things.

Wickham plucked a flower and presented it to her. In truth, he had gone with Denny to continue his spying. The trip had been a felicitous one. Finding all the servants partaking of a feast made from the last of the provisions in the Netherfield larder before the majority of them left in search of new jobs, Wickham and Denny had roamed the estate freely. Their lucky break had come when they had inspected the dovecote. At first they thought all the pigeons were gone, packed up in the travelling basket by Finn to be returned to Mayfair. But roosting on a high perch they had discovered one sleeping, newly arrived and still wearing a harness. Inside had been a letter. Now Wickham knew the name of Darcy's correspondent—Count Charles Báthory. The name rang a bell—though Wickham could not quite place it.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*At this time, gold was scarce and the guinea, nominally worth 21 shillings was trading on the open market for 27 shillings in paper money. In 1816, the guinea was withdrawn as a unit of currency.


	21. A meeting with a cat

**Do not worry. Finn is not slipping. The bird arrived after they left. That is why it was still wearing a harness containing the letter.**

 **Suggestions for the title of Chapter 20 were:**

 **"Gone, Long Gone" by** ** _Dizzy Lizzy.60,_**

 **"So long, it's been good to know you" or "How long gone, is he going to be?" by** ** _Deanna27_** **,**

 **"A Thief in the Night" by** ** _Chica De Los Ojas Cafe,_**

 **"Dragon's blood" or "Double debacle" by** ** _Laura Saintyves,_**

 **"Sugar matches and dragon's blood" or for the Wickham case "Fundamental discovery" by** ** _nessy22_** **,**

 **"Fire and Gold" and "Forgotten Dove" by _LotsOfLaundry_ ,**

 **"Spying and Lying", "A Bird in Hand", "So Much for Urgent Business", "He Sends Gifts", "A Guinea for Your Thoughts" by** ** _SacredWoman2K_** **,**

 **"Dissolving" by** ** _Julia_** **,**

 **"Left behind" by** ** _CG4me_** **,**

 **I decided to go with "Left behind" by** ** _CG4me_** **.**

* * *

 **Chapter 21 A meeting with a cat**

With Netherfield deserted, the days at Longbourn before Christmas proved remarkably dull. Although Lieutenant Wickham and the officers continued to visit regularly, for Elizabeth, the shine quickly wore off the Lieutenant's attentions. She had briefly thought him interested in alchemy after showing him the dragon's blood. George seemed fascinated with the project until he understood that the gold could not be multiplied by its dissolution.

Further doubt was thrown on his character when the Lieutenant's everlasting devotion to Mr Darcy's sister seemed not to outlast the advent of the new heiress in the district, a Miss King from Bath, who having finished school was visiting relatives near Meryton. Although Elizabeth continued to be the focus of Lieutenant Wickham's attentions whenever he took his pot luck* with the other officers at Longbourn upon Mrs Bennet's constant invitations, Lizzy became second fiddle to Miss King at wider social functions. Elizabeth discovered this did not much bother her.

Indeed, Lizzy began to suspect herself of cultivating Lieutenant Wickham for the sole purpose of hearing of Mr Darcy. The lieutenant continued developing the rakish persona he had created for Darcy but Elizabeth took these stories with a grain of salt*, recognising in them a lack of consistency with her own observations. Wickham's highly improper stories of drunken routs seemed to have little resemblance to her knowledge of Mr Darcy's solitary and secretive nightly excursions. Lizzy even began to suspect that the Lieutenant's stories were based more on his own experiences.

More interesting to her were Wickham's stories of their childhood together, which painted a picture of a lonely and studious boy who was constantly being bettered by his older compatriot in the eyes of old Mr Darcy; a boy whose true worth seemed only to be appreciated by a series of tutors. Indeed, Pemberley seemed to have hosted an alarming number of tutors. Reading between the lies and the boasts, Elizabeth suspected that they had constantly been harassed by the energetic Wickham who had little sympathy for scholarship, until they gave up and left. The lieutenant referred to these young gentlemen from Oxford and Cambridge collectively as 'a lot of prosy old boors'.

Elizabeth also kept her ear out for the inevitable gossip on the Netherfield party that circulated after their departure. Not the usual gossip of Mrs Bennet's four and twenty families, but the less accessible gossip of the local tradesmen and their wives. Lizzy did this when she purchased ribbons at the haberdashery or accompanied Charlotte to the butcher or baker. Mr Bingley was deemed kind but rather ignorant of estate management by all those who had dealt with him. His sisters were thought to be haughty and Mr Hurst—a London dandy beneath contempt. Elizabeth was surprised to find that only Mr Darcy was spoken of with respect—he knew how to manage an estate and had done much to remediate the deplorable state of Netherfield's cottages, making sure the cottagers had plenty to eat, even meat. The only criticism Elizabeth heard of him was the widely held view that Mr Darcy looked a little pale. They thought he should get out in the sunshine more.

Lizzy did not really understand her fascination with Mr Darcy but she hoarded the village gossip and Wickham's childhood stories of him like scraps of material, attempting to piece them together into a holey patchwork in her idle hours. She supposed Mr Darcy was the most interesting person she had met in her limited acquaintance.

But the sparse information she gathered on Mr Darcy could not hope to occupy her. Lizzy spent most of her spare time in the still room, much to her mother's dismay. In between soft soap and ginger beer, Lizzy continued her alchemical experiments, guided by her father's suggestions and limited only by the raw ingredients she could purchase with her pin money. The dragon's blood sat on the shelf while Lizzy contemplated turning it back into gold, but it seemed somehow less exotic in that form. She ignored her mother's protests regarding her behaviour, glad of a distraction from the sinking feeling of depression that threatened to engulf her, driven by Jane's despondency and Charlotte's shameless cultivation of Mr Collins. Her two best friends could no longer be of any comfort to her.

Charlotte continued to visit Longbourn daily and did her best to talk of anything aside from her upcoming marriage, which had been scheduled for just after the festive season. Miss Lucas felt the gulf opening up between herself and her best friend and was pained by it. She hoped that if she proceeded as normal, that Lizzy might eventually forgive her practical decision, but she saw no indication of any relenting by her friend.

At last some relief came in the advent of the Gardiners for Christmas. Mr Gardiner was Mrs Bennet's brother, a well educated gentleman-like man who had built up a successful business in London. He had capped his good fortune by marrying a genteel lady of modest prospects and gone forth and multiplied. Both Mr and Mrs Gardiner were relatives to be proud of. Their three little boys immediately brought energy and charm to Longbourn, amusing Lizzy with their constant requests for childish games, whether leapfrog or hide-and-seek. It was just the remedy she needed for her lassitude.

It did not take long after her arrival for Mrs Gardiner to notice that something was amiss with Jane and to seek Lizzy's explanation for it. Of course, Mrs Gardiner had heard of the new tenants of Netherfield from Jane and Elizabeth's letters but these had been circumspect, only containing admiration of Mr Bingley's person and praise of his character. After hearing a more complete rendition of Jane's romance, Mrs Gardiner shook her head at Mr Bingley's cavalier attitude and suggested a trip to London might distract Jane from pining for the unworthy gentleman.

"And you Lizzy, you seem not quite your normal self either? Has someone also stolen your heart?"

"Oh no, Aunt. I admit my spirits are also depressed but being crossed in love is not my excuse. It is partially Jane but also Charlotte. I cannot quite forgive her for marrying our cousin."

"You do not regret turning him down?" asked Mrs Gardiner.

"Heavens, no! Although Mama has not made it easy. With Charlotte visiting every day the tension is often as thick as custard."

Her aunt nodded sympathetically.

"Once Charlotte is gone, it will become easier," said Lizzy, "and if you are able to cheer Jane up with a trip to town, I believe I will be going on swimmingly."

Mrs Gardiner smiled. "Your mother seems to think there might have been some prospect of a match between you and Lieutenant Wickham."

"Lieutenant Wickham! Oh no! I am not sure where she got that idea!"

"She believes everything was 'like winking' until Miss King came along. Be honest—are you also nursing a broken heart?"

"Indeed not!" expostulated Lizzy. "Lieutenant Wickham is very diverting and amusing but Miss King may have him with all my good wishes. I am not her rival!"

Mrs Gardiner was not quite satisfied with this explanation. She thought Lizzy was withholding something but knew not what. In the end she concluded that if Lieutenant Wickham had wounded Lizzy's heart, it had been just a slight injury, and her resilient niece would recover faster if her more seriously depressed elder sister was not constantly working on her sensibilities.

Thus Jane went off with the Gardiners after Christmas and Lizzy was left to endure the final breach from her best friend alone.

* * *

Just after Twelfth Night, Charlotte and Mr Collins were married from Longbourn and set off from the church door immediately to Kent, again so that Mr Collins could be spared the dreaded expense of accommodation. Charlotte begged Lizzy to write, which Lizzy answered noncommittally, not seeing any joy to be had from any future correspondence.

The second week in January saw further depressing news—the militia had been ordered to Brighton, to train en masse with other troops and take part in a pageant for the Prince Regent. The moaning from Lydia and Kitty became interminable. Lizzy also regretted the departure of Lieutenant Wickham—for a while. His company had at least been intelligent and he had begun to renew his attentions to her in the last few days after Miss King had returned to Bath. It was only after the militia departed that Mrs Long had confided to Lizzy the reason for the heiress's sudden relocation. Miss King had been shipped back to her aunt in Bath when it had been discovered she was on the verge of eloping with Lieutenant Wickham. Lizzy shook her head and was glad he was gone.

The time after the militia's departure had been remarkably flat, with Mrs Bennet and the two younger girls' moaning filling every silence. Mary had stepped up her proselytising and when a letter from her aunt suggested that Jane might need a few extra weeks in London before she was ready to return, Lizzy was at her wit's end. It was on the morning of the receipt of this letter that Lady Lucas and Sir William made a call and begged Lizzy once more to visit on Charlotte's behalf. Sir William and Mariah were to journey to Kent next week and there was plenty of room in the carriage.

Lizzy relented. But in the end there was even less room in the carriage than Sir William anticipated, for Lydia decided to invite herself along. It had all started weeks ago before the militia's departure, when Lydia had been invited to accompany Colonel Forster's new wife to Brighton. Mrs Forster was the same age as Lydia, though far less genteel, having grown up following the drum*. Even Mrs Bennet thought the young Mrs Forster 'not quite the thing' and had been less than enthusiastic about the invitation.

However, Lydia's despondency in the weeks following the militia's departure had worn her mother down. She had suggested that the whole family might benefit from a trip to the seaside, and when Mr Bennet showed no enthusiasm for this idea at all, Mrs Bennet had moved on to hinting that she and her daughters might make the trip themselves. Unfortunately her pin money did not quite stretch to the expense.

The impasse was broken when Lydia suggested that if Sir William could take her just _a little_ further, as far as Tunbridge Wells, Mrs Forster had undertaken to meet her there from whence they might journey together back to Brighton in an open carriage under the escort of some of the officers. From Hertfordshire, the extra distance from Hunsford to Tunbridge Wells of sixteen miles might have seemed a small addition to their journey to Lydia, but it seemed considerably more to Sir William who was paying the posting charges. However, such was Sir William's wish to gratify his daughter by delivering Elizabeth to her doorstep that he quite stoically volunteered to escort Lydia the extra distance if it would please Mrs Bennet. It did, much to Lizzy's chagrin, for she did not think letting Lydia loose in a camp full of soldiers with Mrs Forster as her chaperone wise.

Nonetheless, all was soon settled and they set off to Kent via London. The first night was spent in rather crowded conditions with the Gardiners in Cheapside. Elizabeth roomed with Jane while Lydia and Mariah occupied the sofas in the parlour. Sir William took himself off to stay overnight with a friend. Elizabeth found Jane not much changed from her previously despondent state and was seriously worried by it. Mrs Gardiner was inclined to ascribe the slow progress to a letter Jane had sent to Grosvenor Street inviting the Bingley sisters to take tea in Gracechurch Street. Jane had expected them hourly from the day after her letter had been sent but they had yet to make an appearance. Lizzy confided to her aunt her sincere doubt that the Bingley sisters would ever venture as far as Cheapside.

After a late start dictated by Sir William's sore head—his friend had proved rather convivial—the travellers continued on to Kent the next day, changing horses at Bromley and arriving at Hunsford in the early afternoon. Charlotte was ecstatic to see them. She clasped her hands together and wiped a tear from her eye as they alighted from the chaise.

They were invited inside to take tea while the trunks were unloaded from the chaise, with only Lydia's being kept aboard for the onward journey. Mr Collins was effusive in his greetings and keen to immediately show everyone the house and garden. This tour included the entire ground floor of the parsonage and such parts of the garden that he could manage before the tea was ready. They were not allowed to go back inside, however, until Mr Collins had taken them just a few steps more. They stepped around a blackberry bush—which Mr Collins believed should come down if his dear Charlotte would just permit him—and there was Rosings in the distance. It was an impressive new house, very large, and bringing to mind sketches Elizabeth had seen of the Royal Pavilion at Brighton. She said so, much to Mr Collins' delight, and Lydia promised to write to tell them if the comparison was fair—for only she would be in a position to do so. Finally, they were permitted to go back inside.

During their tour and throughout tea, Mr Collins was especially attentive to Elizabeth and she realised with some embarrassment that it was his intention to enumerate all the delights she had missed out on by not consenting to be his wife. The display went over Sir William's head, who had taken it in deference to himself. It did not go past Charlotte who grinned ruefully at Lizzy as she passed her cup after Mr Collins pointed out the beautiful china and confided that Lady Catherine had personally chosen the pattern as being particularly apposite for a country parsonage. Elizabeth would have liked to have been easy enough to roll her eyes at her friend in her old manner, but in deference to their thawing relations, she merely politely ignored her cousin.

They were saved from too long a continuance of this embarrassing interlude by Lydia's eagerness to be off and the church bell striking the hour. Charlotte explained that Lady Catherine liked the hour to be marked* between sunrise and sunset to keep the villagers steadily employed in their tasks. Sir William agreed that the horses should not be kept standing too long and grabbing the carpetbag he had packed separately for Tunbridge Wells, bid them adieu until the morrow. He intended to stay overnight to attend the theatre before hiring a gig for the return journey to Hunsford from The Wells.

The inhabitants of the parsonage spent a quiet evening in Sir William's absence. Lady Catherine had very generously invited the whole party to dine at Rosings but that had been delayed until the morrow when Sir William would be returned. Instead, they sat around the fire, with Charlotte employed in her stitchery while Mariah and Elizabeth untangled threads. Mr Collins read again from Fordyces' sermons. Elizabeth wondered whether her cousin knew of any other book or if he had decided to make the subjugation of young ladies his life's work. She certainly hoped she would not have to endure his reading from it for her entire stay at the parsonage.

When the next morning dawned bright and sunny, Elizabeth rose early, eager to explore some of the paths she had seen yesterday. She was a little shocked to find Charlotte in the kitchen, overseeing the preparation of breakfast. Her friend told her that she did not mind; she liked to keep busy and—in a whispered aside—as Lady Catherine had deemed that only one maidservant should suffice in a establishment the size of the parsonage, she had not much choice. Charlotte encouraged Elizabeth to walk out, advising her of the paths that did not go towards the manor house. Breakfast would be served at nine. Elizabeth promised to hurry back as soon as she should hear the church bell strike the first hour.

Elizabeth's walk was a delight. The chance to explore new paths was an adventure she had not anticipated in visiting her friend and the countryside was exceedingly beautiful. She followed a path that ran down to a lake of such tranquility that Lizzy felt she could happily have stayed there all day. In walking part way around the periphery, Elizabeth discovered an island on which stood a tiny cottage—not more than a hut really—and she was speculating on how it might be reached when she was greeted by a friendly tabby cat walking to meet her along the path. Lizzy removed her glove and bent down to stroke the animal, which responded with a loud purr. She had not long been employed in making the acquaintance, wondering aloud whether the cat belonged to Rosings or was perhaps visiting from the village, when the church bells began to strike the hour and Elizabeth was forced to hurry back to the parsonage.

Sir William arrived back from Tunbridge Wells in time for lunch, which was held back a little in anticipation of him. He apologised for his tardiness, explaining how he dared not encourage the horse pulling his hired gig into a trot lest the dubious equipage fell apart. Charlotte smiled, knowing from his creased brows that her father's headache—no doubt arising from over-indulgence on the previous night—had likely dictated his slow pace. She quietly added a drop of laudanum to his tea.

In the afternoon, Mr Collins took Sir William off for a more complete tour of his gardens and to show him his beehives, much to the ladies' relief. Elizabeth was not sure she could have endured any more of Fordyce's sermons. As soon as the parlour door closed, Charlotte dug out a handsomely bound novel from the bottom of her sewing basket.

"It is _The Mysterious Warning_ by Eliza Parsons," crowed Charlotte in a whisper, lest her husband be still within earshot.

Elizabeth admired the handsome, leather-tooled cover. "Surely this cannot be from a circulating library, Charlotte?"

"No, it is Miss de Bourgh's. She often loans me books."

"That is very nice of her," remarked Elizabeth, a little astonished with the secrecy with which it had been produced.

They spent a very agreeable interlude with Elizabeth reading while Charlotte and Mariah sewed. Charlotte indicated that the book should be shut promptly as soon as they heard the gentlemen returning. Elizabeth was beginning to see the constraints of Charlotte's life and counted her blessings that she had not been forced to accept Mr Collins.

Finally the evening of their visit to Rosings drew near and they all went upstairs to dress. Based on the outward appearance of Rosings, Elizabeth was a little chagrined that she had not brought her ball gowns with her, not having anticipated the need for them. But her cousin quickly attempted to put her at her ease—whatever she had that was neat and tidy would suffice; Lady Catherine liked to have the distinction of rank preserved. Based on this pronouncement, Lizzy's enthusiasm for the outing considerably diminished. Any curiosity of what lay inside the fantastical manor house could not outweigh the apparent haughtiness of the lady who dwelt there, but it was too late to beg off with a headache.

The party headed off on foot with all the excitement of a grand night out. Sir William talked loudly of the many important friends he had acquired since being presented at St James' and Mariah giggled and skipped along beside them, occasionally clapping her hands together. The park through which they walked became noticeably more formal as they approached the manor house and similarly the manners of the party began to change. Sir William dropped the timbre of his voice while Mariah became more subdued and straightened her gown. Nonetheless, Sir William kept up his stream of observations, saying how very impressed he was and likening Rosings to Versailles, which he hoped to visit some day. Outwardly, Elizabeth agreed the park was very pretty, but inwardly she was thinking how the untamed park closer to the parsonage was far more beautiful.

At last they arrived in the shadow of the house and stepped up to the portico where Mr Collins banged the knocker with an air of self-importance. When Sir William passed his handkerchief over his brow, Elizabeth noticed with surprise that he appeared to be shaking in his shoes. Mariah too looked quite pale. Charlotte gave her sister's hand an encouraging squeeze.

The door was answered in short order by a footman dressed gorgeously in all the pomp of yesteryear, wearing a full-length waistcoat, embroidered all over, and with lace at his throat and sleeves. He appeared only to have been awaiting their summons. They stepped inside a huge vestibule of cold marble with a chequered floor and huge columns of green and maroon porphyry where they were divested of their outerwear. As they trod up the red-carpeted stairs after the footman. Sir William was all agog and Elizabeth could not imagine him to have been more in awe if he had found himself at Carlton House*.

They were admitted into a large parlour where oversized paintings and tapestries lined the walls. Seated upon a gilded chair in the centre of a dais was a grand dame dressed in panniers, whom Mr Collins immediately abased himself to. There could be no doubt this was Lady Catherine. To one side of the dias, on a small sofa, sat two other ladies, a sickly looking younger lady—fashionably dressed and wearing jewels—and a more modestly dressed older lady wearing a cap. After an eloquent introduction of his patroness. these ladies were introduced by Mr Collins as Miss Anne de Bourgh and her companion, Mrs Jenkinson. Elizabeth recalled that Lieutenant Wickham had posited that Mr Darcy was betrothed to Miss de Bourgh. If there was any truth to that utterance, she felt sorry for the lady. It would not be pleasant to have a rakish husband—always showering attention on every lady but his wife.

The rector then proceeded to introduce the new members of the Hunsford party. Sir William bowed and scraped and Mariah almost fell over when executing her curtsy. Elizabeth was rather disgusted by her cousin's fawning speech and disinclined to like Lady Catherine because of her mean trick of setting the Rosings party above their company on the dais. Elizabeth further noticed that the grand dame made no attempt to curtail her cousin's effusions. She remembered that Lady Catherine was Mr Darcy's aunt and thought she could detect a resemblance in the nose, which in the nephew was aquiline but in the old lady had acquired more of the nature of a beak.

When at last Mr Collins introduced Elizabeth it became obvious from his tone that he had spoken to Lady Catherine of Elizabeth before. This was confirmed when Lady Catherine plucked up a quizzing glass on a chain and proceeded to look down her nose at Elizabeth, twisting her lips. From the frank disapproval emanating from Lady Catherine, Elizabeth was in no doubt that her cousin had told his patroness of his rejected marriage proposal. Elizabeth cast her eyes down, tried not to smile and curtsied gracefully.

"Well!" declared Lady Catherine. "For a lady who might well find herself in the hedgerows in the future, you are remarkably easy!"

Elizabeth was taken aback by the forthrightness of Lady Catherine's speech, which confirmed Mr Collins' disclosure, and was severely tempted to raise one eyebrow at her cousin as her father might have done. She was saved from this act of sauciness by a movement by Miss de Bourgh who raised her handkerchief to cover her mouth. Elizabeth immediately saw from the distraught look in Miss de Bourgh's eyes that she was distressed by her mother's behaviour but dared not say a word. Composing herself, Elizabeth clasped her hands in front of her and stared back benignly at Lady Catherine.

"Well!" huffed Lady Catherine again. "At least you have pretty manners, despite lacking common sense!"

With the exception of Mr Collins, who seemed almost to be preening himself like a great black rook, the whole Hunsford party was transfixed by this second attack—no one being game to venture a word. The silence was broken when a clock struck the dinner hour and in the silence thereafter the measured tread of boots in the hall announced a newcomer.

They all turned in anticipation. Into the parlour walked Mr Darcy.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*pot luck - an open invitation. Predates the North American meaning where every guest contributes a plate. In Australia, this is known as 'bring-a-plate', which regularly results in foreigners arriving with a china plate rather than a dish of food.

*grain of salt - to view something with skepticism. The concept dates back to Pliny, Naturalis Historia, 77 A.D, which includes a recipe for an antidote to poison that includes a grain of salt. The concept that injurious effects can be moderated by the taking of a grain of salt has been used in English since the 17th century, likely introduction by classical scholars of Greek texts, for example, in John Trapp's Commentary on the Old and New Testaments, 1647.

*following the drum—as an army brat.

*hour to be marked - typically Church bells were only rung to call parishioners to service, or at the canonical hours three times a day, at Matins (6:00 am), Sext (12:00 noon) and Vespers (6:00 pm). Striking the hour typically only came in with automated clocks. The poor curate!

*Carlton House—the Prince's Regent's custom built residence in London.


	22. The pests of Kent

I **couldn't find any written instances of 'remediate' before 1820, nor is it likely to be a word the townsfolk use, so I changed it to 'remedy' in the master, _CG4me_.**

 **Thanks again to _alix33_ for corrections.**

 **Suggestions for the title of chapter 21 were:**

 **"Quizzing Glances" by _Deanna27_ ,**

 **"Restless Hearts" by _YepItsMe_ ,**

 **"The Hunsford Connection" by _Dizzy Lizzy.60,_**

 **"Guess Who's Coming to Dinner" or "The Winter of Her Discontent" by _amamama_ ,**

 **"Meet Catherine the Great" by _Laura Saintyves,_**

 **"Moving On" and "Despair and Disapproval" by _CG4me_ ,**

 **"Meet the Cat" by _austen16_ ,**

 **"Sorting" and, with Darcy's arrival, "Dum Dee Dum Dum Dumm!" by _LotsOfLaundry_ ,**

 **"Cat among the pigeons" by _amkakumekucha_ ,**

 **"Alchemy and Discontent" by _Lee3619_ ,**

 **"Changing seasons, changing scenery" by _TMNinjaGinga_ ,**

 **"In need of change","change of scene" or "déjà vu" (because of Darcy's reappearance) or "void" by _nessy22_ ,**

 **"Bitter Cold with a Chance of Spring" by _Missouri Walker,_**

 **Some great ones there. Kudos to _Dizzy Lizzy, amamama, Laura Saintyves and amkakumekucha_ ; just to name a few. Very clever, _austen16_. "A meeting with a cat" it is.**

* * *

 **Chapter 22 The pests of Kent**

 _Synopsis:_ _Elizabeth journeys with Mariah and Sir William into Kent to visit Charlotte. Lydia accompanies them to Hunsford before being escorted to Tunbridge Wells by Sir William where she joins Mrs Forster to journey on to Brighton. Attending a formal dinner at Rosings, Elizabeth is startled to encounter Mr Darcy._

Elizabeth blushed from her head to her toe but immediately composed herself. She was glad to see that Mr Darcy also was not unaffected. The villagers were right; he was very pale, but he went momentarily paler still. His distraction lasted but a fraction of a second. Darcy stepped forward to the dais, gave a very formal and rigid bow and leaned forward to kiss his aunt's hand. Lady Catherine seemed extraordinarily gratified by her nephew's attentions—a genuine smile formed on her lips and she flicked out her fan to coyly retreat behind it, as if she was flirting at some grand ball of yesteryear.

"You naughty boy!" said Lady Catherine archly. "You came a full two weeks early, and with only a few hours notice!"

Elizabeth was all agog at the change in Lady Catherine's demeanour—from harpy to playful debutante in a flash.

"I beg your pardon, Aunt," replied Darcy without a blink. "Georgie has not been well and it is my plan to take her back to Derbyshire as soon as I may."

"You should have brought her to Kent, Nephew. The country air would do her well."

Darcy recalled Georgie's shudder when he had suggested that she accompany him. "She was indisposed to travel when I left." _Thank the Lord!_ thought Darcy, for it was an indisposition he had prayed for for many months. "I hope she will be recovered sufficiently to attempt Derbyshire when I return."

"So you do not intend to stay for Easter?" asked Lady Catherine, adopting more of her inquisitorial mode.

"I hardly know," said Darcy, supremely conscious of Miss Elizabeth standing behind him and trying to focus on his aunt's words. "As I did not come last year, I thought there might be some catching up to do."

This seemed to satisfy Lady Catherine who subsided and directed her nephew's attention to her daughter. "As you see, Anne is more lovely than ever."

Elizabeth's attention was pricked. Lady Catherine's utterance lent some support to the notion that Mr Darcy was indeed engaged to Miss de Bourgh as Lieutenant Wickham had attested. Elizabeth watched with bated breath for Mr Darcy's reaction.

"Cousin," said Darcy, stepping forward to kiss Miss de Bourgh's hand in much the same manner as he had kissed his aunt's.

Miss de Bourgh gave her cousin a wan smile. There seemed to be genuine affection in it but nothing of girlish embarrassment.

Elizabeth was at a loss as to how to interpret their interaction. If the pair _were_ betrothed, it seemed to be a very bloodless relationship.

Darcy then gave a brief bow to Mrs Jenkinson, whom Lady Catherine had failed to acknowledge, murmuring her name as he did so.

"This is my new parson," declared Lady Catherine, "Mr Collins..."

Mr Collins appropriately abased himself as Darcy stepped away from the dais.

"...who I was very lucky to get at short notice when Mr Comfrey died unexpectedly and the curate ran off with his wife."

"And they will surely burn in Hell," whispered Mr Collins as if making his responses in church.

Lady Catherine gave a pious nod before continuing: "Mr Collins stepped into the breach so quickly that not a single Sunday service was missed!"

Elizabeth glanced at her cousin, expecting him to add 'Hallelujah!' but he merely looked rather smug.

Lady Catherine continued the introductions: "This is Mr Collins' new wife, formerly Miss Lucas; her father, Sir William, who is visiting; her sister, Mary—Mariah looked startled and only belatedly curtsied upon recognising this was intended for herself—and Mr Collins' cousin, Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

"We have met," returned Darcy, staring only at Elizabeth.

"You know Miss Elizabeth Bennet?" demanded Lady Catherine shrilly, obviously not pleased.

"I was recently in Hertfordshire, staying with a friend," replied Darcy calmly. "I attended a soirée at Sir William's and visited the Longbourn estate on several occasions."

Elizabeth was surprised Mr Darcy was willing to admit as much, for none of his visits to Longbourn had been 'official' ones. She supposed that neither Mr Collins or Sir William would know that, but she thought Mr Darcy treading on dangerous ground with Charlotte. Then again, he probably did not know that Charlotte had visited Longbourn daily.

"Then you are no doubt aware that the Longbourn estate is entailed to Mr Collins?" asked Lady Catherine with a note of triumph in her voice.

Elizabeth saw Mr Darcy break eye contact with her and seemingly retreat into himself.

He turned to his aunt and murmured, "Shall we go in to dinner?"

Lady Catherine seemed inclined to pursue an answer but when Darcy stepped up to assist his cousin to stand, she subsided. Helped up by a footman, the great lady stood to lead the way in solitary state. Darcy followed with Miss de Bourgh on his elbow. Mr Collins grabbed Charlotte's arm and took a quick step into the queue, self-importantly sticking his nose in the air. Considering his knighthood, Sir William was a little nonplussed to have his son-in-law go before him but he took the snub with a semblance of equanimity and offered to escort Elizabeth. Mrs Jenkinson brought up the rear with Mariah, followed by two footmen.

The adjacent dining room seemed almost more magnificent than the parlour. A grand table that could seat twenty or more was fully set with glittering gold plate, illuminated by the light of several girandoles* set at intervals along the table. A duke's table could not have been more impressive and Lizzy began to see how a humble baronet might have snared a haughty earl's daughter. Elizabeth heard Sir William sigh happily when they entered the room and, casting her glance at him, saw him smile at her with glee.

"Well, Miss Elizabeth, this is something like, is it not?" he observed as he leaned towards her.

"Yes!" politely replied Elizabeth. "Something!" She was very interested to see how they were to be deposed about the table, whether Lady Catherine would seat herself at one end and send Mr Darcy to the other. The comic possibilities of them shouting at each other throughout the meal, caused her mouth to twist into her smile.

Sir William took her smile to echo his own excitement. He squeezed her hand, almost bouncing in his shoes.

"Mr Collins, please take my left," directed Lady Catherine. "Darcy, you are to sit here on my right with Anne beside you."

Mariah and Sir William were directed beside Mr Collins, while Charlotte was sent to stand beside Miss de Bourgh. Mrs Jenkinson was shooed next to Sir William, leaving Elizabeth to take her place on the fringe next to Charlotte. Satisfied with her arrangement, Lady Catherine made a hand signal. A footman came to stand behind each of the guests and they were seated.

Elizabeth was not initially entirely satisfied with this arrangement for, seated beside him but shielded by Miss de Bourgh and Charlotte, it was not easy for her to surreptitiously observe the most interesting person at the table, Mr Darcy. She would happily have traded places with Mrs Jenkinson who sat directly across from her for a better view. Normally she would have been content to be seated beside Charlotte if it were not for her uncanny feeling, perhaps inspired by her friend's stiffness, that Charlotte would likely not say a word throughout dinner. In short, Elizabeth suspected dinner would be an interminable bore, watching her cousin fawning over Lady Catherine. She was just resigning herself to her fate when she noticed a large mirror behind Sir William that allowed her—if she shifted slightly in her chair—to see Mr Darcy.

The head footman announced two soups: turtle or pea, and after opting for the turtle, Lady Catherine started the dinnertime conversation while the others were served.

"Well, Darcy! You are looking very well after your Grand Tour! Much improved in appearance!"

Darcy seemed momentarily at a loss for a reply to his aunt before he managed, "Thank you, Aunt," and requested the pea soup.

Lady Catherine then started on a long dialogue with Darcy on his sojourn in Vienna. Elizabeth gathered from this conversation that Darcy's aunt had never visited the city, yet she seemed to have a vast knowledge of it. She generally started on a topic—some monument or palace or prince—said what she knew of it, solicited her nephew's opinion, then immediately took him to task for something or other. Darcy generally conceded gracefully, clearly not particularly caring one way or another, but occasionally he resisted Lady Catherine's onslaught and was firm in his opinion, typically when the topic was a person like Lord Castlereagh*. Then Lady Catherine sought the opinion of Mr Collins who offered vacuous statements that he thought loaned support to her arguments but which were frequently irrelevant.

Meanwhile Elizabeth quietly finished her first ever bowl of turtle soup, which had tasted something like—chicken. Although her mother kept a grand table, Mrs Bennet paid scant attention to the soup, merely providing it at her husband's behest. Mrs Bennet had no opinion of soups or stews, which she thought the refuge of the poor. Elizabeth briefly wondered what her mother would have made of Mr Hurst's 'ragout'.

Throughout the first course, Elizabeth occasionally traded glances with Sir William, the only communicating person on the other side of the table—Mariah looked perpetually stunned and Mrs Jenkinson kept her eyes cast down. Sir William's brief smiles at Lizzy while he listened to Lady Catherine's soliloquy, frowning slightly with concentration, seemed to rejoice in their both partaking of a high treat. He was clearly doing his best to archive all that passed. Beside Elizabeth, Charlotte kept her eyes firmly directed towards Lady Catherine, nodding frequently. Every now and then, when Sir William was enraptured by Lady Catherine's speech, Elizabeth risked glancing at Mr Darcy in the mirror and once she intercepted a look from him. There was something of desperation or stoicism in it, perhaps both. She felt a little sorry for him, having to endure his dragon of an aunt—but not much, after she recalled his haughty insult at the assembly.

The soup bowls were taken away by the footmen and the silver covers removed from the main course. There was a roast leg of lamb, a turbot, a pheasant pie, as well as several vegetable dishes and salads—all the fare Lizzy typically enjoyed at Longbourn but served in a much grander style. Lady Catherine apologised to Darcy, saying they would have roast pheasant on the morrow, then scolding him once more for arriving at short notice. In the mirror, Elizabeth saw Miss de Bourgh look down at her lap.

Lady Catherine then announced her selection of three of the dishes and her footman accordingly arranged the requested food on her plate. Darcy and Miss de Bourgh did likewise and Elizabeth understood that she was not to touch any of the serving implements herself, but relay her wishes through her footman. The pomp was quite astounding! She glanced mischievously across at Sir William but he was staring dumbfounded at his shiny gold plate.

Meanwhile Darcy, who had at all times appeared in command of the situation, was only just regaining his equanimity. Finding Miss Elizabeth Bennet in his aunt's parlour had been quite a shock but he had immediately realised his error in not considering the possibility. He supposed he had believed the connection with her cousin remote; thought a visit unlikely after the unsuccessful marriage proposal. For despite their disingenuous exchange in the rain—his suggestion of mesmerism and Miss Elizabeth's quaint explanation that her cousin was reciting poetry—Darcy had realised the situation for what it was and correctly interpreted their avoidance of each other at the Netherfield ball. He wondered briefly how the romance between Mr Collins and Miss Elizabeth's best friend had proceeded—he had noticed their dances together at the ball but had thought nothing of it. It seemed a trifle awkward. Darcy could only assume from Miss Elizabeth's presence at Rosings that she was sanguine with the match. But it seemed so strange to be complacent with a marriage outside the family—considering the entail and her bevy of sisters.

These thoughts passed in a flash, swiftly displaced by Darcy's anxiety over his fatal attraction to Miss Elizabeth. He hoped Finn had retained the shackles from Netherfield and could only pray that their recent discovery with the bottled blood would be beneficial.

For Darcy had found a method to remove the stale taste from the blood, which had allowed him to drink more of it and even to comfortably attend Almack's with Georgie. It had all started with a lecture at the Royal Society by Mr Humphry Davy*. Darcy had not been particularly interested in the subject of chlorine but having heard Mr Davy lecture numerous times before, Darcy knew him to be an engaging speaker. It was during the socialising afterwards that he had been handed a glass of wine by Sir Joseph Banks and informed by the Society's president that if he had a sore head on the morrow, that Davy had also invented the perfect cure for a hangover. When Darcy expressed his curiosity, Mr Davy had been summoned to the group to explain—it involved bubbling nitrous oxide through the wine before you drank it.

After several guffaws noting the horse had already bolted*, for the wine had not been thus pretreated, Davy went on to describe his other experiments with factitious airs* for the entertainment of the group that had gathered. Many had heard these stories before but lingered to listen once more in the conviviality of the moment. After the group began to drift away, Davy had been gratified by Darcy's genuine interest in the topic and agreed to demonstrate the apparatus for producing the gases if Darcy would be pleased to come to his laboratory on the following evening.

The result had been Davy's loaning the apparatus to Darcy for his own experiments with various factitious airs, for Mr Davy knew well how to cultivate the Ton. Darcy had suggested to Davy that he wished to repeat his experiments on wine and also to observe the effect of the airs on the ageing of wine—an explanation that had sufficed to silence Georgie and Mrs Flowers regarding the apparatus and the vast quantity of port wine bottles that appeared in Darcy's study.

Darcy had dutifully produced all sorts of factitious airs, but like the wine, it was the nitrous oxide that proved to be the magic ingredient, removing the stale taste from the blood if bubbled through it before consumption.

Darcy had purchased his own apparatus and returned Mr Davy's with a thank you and a small grant to continue his excellent work, which the canny Cornish chemist had been pleased to accept. Finn soon insisted on taking over the mundane task of preparing the blood. Darcy found he was able to take about twice the amount of the fresher tasting bottled blood than he had previously done and it was sufficient to get him through an early evening function without the least discomfort before he disappeared into the rookeries afterwards—for he was still limited by the amount of bottled blood he could come by. At least his experiments had allayed the worries of Mrs Flowers who had been seriously alarmed by the amount of port she thought he had been putting away. Darcy pretended the experiments were ongoing to explain the large number of bottles. He wrote to the count of his discovery.

For their sojourn in Kent, Darcy's valet had arranged for the bottled blood to be delivered from London to a tavern in the village of Hunsford every evening, from where Finn arranged the conveyance of the crates by foot to Rosings in the dead of night. The publican had no problems with this seemingly strange arrangement, agreeing that Lady Catherine need not know of her nephew's preference for port wine and promising he knew of two lads who could be trusted to be discreet.

Thus had Mr Davy's nitrous oxide allowed Darcy to ease himself back into society, ostensibly gallanting his sister to balls, for he still felt he could not contemplate taking a bride in his state. It had all worked very well. The question was, would it work well enough to keep him away from Miss Elizabeth Bennet?

Two places along at the table, Elizabeth could see Mr Darcy had descended into a brown study* when he failed to respond to two provocative statements by his aunt. Instead Mr Collins had agreed with Lady Catherine although Elizabeth was fairly sure that he also had never been to Vienna or set a foot out of England for that matter. She watched as the footmen took the removes* and replaced them with the dessert—a flummery, floating island pudding, syllabub served in individual glasses, an elaborately decorated apple pie and a cheese platter. It appeared that Lady Catherine had quite a sweet tooth*. After Mr Darcy took some of the cheese, Elizabeth decided on the apple pie for herself.

Having exhausted the topic of Vienna or, at least, Darcy's interest in it, Lady Catherine then took her nephew to task for going off on his own to Hungary. His aunt's knowledge of this excursion seemed to take Darcy by surprise.

"Richard wrote of it to Anne!" expostulated Lady Catherine.

In the mirror, Elizabeth saw Miss de Bourgh shift uncomfortably in her chair and shoot an apologetic look at her cousin but Darcy's gaze was fixed firmly on his plate.

"I do not think it was advisable for you to have gone off on your own," harped Lady Catherine. "There might have been highwaymen. You could have been kidnapped and held for ransom!"

"I was advised by an Hungarian officer and nobleman that it was quite safe," replied Darcy with some chagrin. "His parents had amassed a significant library and his mother had a remarkable collection of minerals, which I wished to see."

"Rocks! Always rocks, Darcy!" squawked Lady Catherine. "You are not a little boy collecting pebbles any more! You were always such a one for them!"

"Excuse me, Aunt," replied Darcy, rather stiffly. "Need I remind you that my father made a considerable fortune from copper and lead?"

"Mining!" hissed Lady Catherine under breath, as if she were pointing out a faux pas on her nephew's part for mentioning it.

In the mirror, Elizabeth saw Darcy flutter his eyelids and work his mouth. He looked clearly exasperated.

"Well! What is done, is done!" continued Lady Catherine. "I gather you visited the capital, Buda?"

"I was staying in Pest, which is located directly across the Danube."

"Pest?" cried Lady Catherine. "What kind of a name is Pest? It sounds like the source of the bubonic plague! Why did you not stay in Buda?"

"Because the library was located in Pest," stated Darcy matter-of-factly.

Lady Catherine eyed her nephew askance. "So you spent all of your time in Hungary in a library?"

"I spent my mornings in Buda, at singlestick and the baths, then I went to the library."

"Well at least you got some exercise," said Lady Catherine whose double chin proclaimed she did not get much. "So pray tell us, what was so outstanding about this library?"

"It was an enviable collection—far exceeding the size of the library at Pemberley and with a far nobler purpose than a rich man's leisure. Count Széchenyi hoped to obtain a copy of every significant manuscript ever written in Hungarian."

"But you cannot even speak Hungarian!"

"No, but there were some translations, mostly in French, and the mineral collection had some unique specimens. I do not regret going," Darcy assured himself.

"And so you were in this 'Pest' when Napoleon escaped from Elba?"

"Yes, Richard wrote to tell me that he had to leave Vienna immediately. He was obviously not able to tell me why, but soon after we heard the rumours that Napoleon was marching on Paris. Not knowing what unrest we might encounter re-tracing our original route, we travelled overland to Zagreb as Richard had advised us, then hired a boat on the Adriatic coast to sail back via the Mediterranean."

"You were travelling with your man, Mr Finn?"

"Yes, and another Englishman on his Grand Tour whom Richard used as his courier and introduced to me, Mr Charles Bingley."

Elizabeth pricked up her ears. _So, that is how the haughty Mr Darcy came to know the amiable industrialist!_ She had thought them an unlikely pair but had previously presumed they had met in the north.

"Bingley?" repeated Lady Catherine. "I know of no Bingleys. Is that not a town on a canal in the north?"

"Yes, they hail from Yorkshire."

"A respectable family?"

"His father was an industrialist but Bingley was educated as a gentleman and hopes to purchase an estate."

Lady Catherine made a face. "I suppose desperate times call for desperate measures," she drawled.

Darcy briefly considered pointing out that a considerable part of his own fortune was now drawn from textile and steel mills, but remembering the short shrift* given to his previous mention of his father's mining ventures, he desisted. "I could not have found a better travelling companion or a more amiable fellow. He and Finn made most of the arrangements. As you know, I was not feeling well at the time. I do not know what I would have done without him."

"I thought you became ill after you returned to London," remarked Lady Catherine.

Darcy realised that in rushing to defend Bingley he had made a strategic error. He had previously been deliberately vague about his illness to his aunt to hide its true nature. Being put on the spot, he decided it was safest to stick to the truth while using the opportunity to prepare his aunt for his new idiosyncrasies.

"No, I became ill in Pest. I recovered sufficiently to travel but my recovery has been slow. I still suffer from migraines brought on by bright light."

"Well!" huffed Lady Catherine. "Pest lived up to its name!"

Darcy forbore to reply to this sally and successfully turned the topic to the estate. Elizabeth listened to the conversation in a desultory fashion for, besides local geography, there could be little in the minutiae to interest her. Instead, her attention turned to Miss de Bourgh who had made surprisingly little contribution to the conversation although it was clear that she followed everything closely and, from the expressions that flitted across her countenance, was not unintelligent. Elizabeth thought Miss de Bourgh looked sickly and wondered if her indisposition rendered her mute, though she thought her harridan of a mother likely to be a contributor to her silence.

Having eaten her fill, Lady Catherine suggested quadrille and got up to lead the way to the drawing room. Clearly the men were not to be left to their bottles. Sir William accepted this gracefully; having overindulged himself in London and Tunbridge Wells, he philosophically viewed it as a respite.

The drawing room managed to equal the other rooms in grandeur, but at least the gilt fauteuils* spoke more of comfort. The card tables had already been set up and, leading the way to one of these, Lady Catherine motioned for her daughter and Darcy to sit down while Mr Collins was honoured by being admitted as the fourth to their table. Charlotte chose to sit at her husband's shoulder as an observer. That left Elizabeth to take the other table with Sir William, Mariah and Mrs Jenkinson. Elizabeth felt very sorry for Sir William who had clearly been moving hopefully towards Lady Catherine's table before his snub and very meanly towards Lady Catherine for neglecting her guests once her nephew had appeared. Nonetheless, the lesser party managed to amuse themselves with cassino* with Sir William happily bearing the burden of the chief of the conversation and Elizabeth favouring him with amiable replies. Despite her appearance of complaisance, Elizabeth was intolerably bored and was very glad when Lady Catherine decided to send the Hunsford party home in her carriage before ten.

As Elizabeth and Mariah were dressing for bed, Charlotte came in to apologise to her friend for neglecting her at the manor house.

"I am very sorry, Lizzy. I should have warned you. But Lady Catherine does not like secondary conversations at the dinner table and given there were an odd number at cards, I thought it best to attach myself to her table, which she clearly expected me to do."

"Think nothing of it, Charlotte," replied Elizabeth. "We amused ourselves tolerably well."

Mariah nodded her agreement. In front of Mariah, whom Elizabeth knew incapable of holding her tongue*, Lizzy would not say more but she fully intended to share her opinion of Lady Catherine's lack of common civility when she got her friend alone.

Thus, with an appearance of complaisance, Elizabeth and Mariah settled down in their beds, crammed into a tiny chamber with a corner wardrobe and a small washstand as their only furniture. Charlotte had promised Elizabeth she could move into Sir William's chamber after he returned to Hertfordshire.

Elizabeth was however destined for a somewhat interrupted night. She fell asleep almost instantly from the moment her head lay on the pillow, but it was a light slumber wracked by dark dreams. After eventually expunging Mr Darcy from her mind during the months since his departure from Netherfield, his reappearance at Rosings instantly reanimated the strange dreams she had of him—dreams in which he stood staring at her as she slept or loped through dark forests carrying her in his arms or on his back.

Lizzy was just drifting into a deeper sleep when she felt something jump on the end of the bed and woke in fright. At first Lizzy thought she had been disturbed by a large rat but upon sitting up she discovered it to be the tabby cat she had met on her walk. After stroking the animal elicited some contented purrs, they both settled down to sleep—Elizabeth between her sheets, and the tabby curled up on the covers near her feet, purring like an engine.

A brief dreamless nap was interrupted when Elizabeth was woken a second time by a sound sometime later. She opened her eyes to find the moon had risen and discovered the disturbance to be the tabby, which was sitting on the windowsill under the light of the moon, batting at the window catch. The constant _clack, clack_ was a little annoying but rather than rouse herself further to chase the cat away, Lizzy rolled over and went back to sleep.

That, however, was not the end of it. She was startled fully awake sometime later when the cat emitted a resounding hiss. Lizzy started up to find the tabby poised on the window sill in an aggressive pose with an arched back, hissing and growling at something below. She got up to investigate but the source of the cat's annoyance was not obvious. Lizzy thought it likely a dog had walked by and scampered off after being challenged. She decided to let down the window as proof against further disturbances and remonstrating quietly with the cat, Lizzy gave it the option of coming in or going out. It chose out, slipping along a narrow ledge and somehow jumping down to the ground. Lizzy could not be sorry.

During all of these disturbances, Mariah had continued to sleep peacefully. Shaking her head with a smile, Lizzy returned to her bed and finally managed to catch a larger block of unbroken sleep before morn.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*girandoles—a branched support for candles which either stands on a surface or projects from a wall, typically with suspended faceted drops that disburse the light.

*Removes—dishes removed from the table in service á la française to make way for others, so that dessert and some savoury dishes were on the table at the same time. The protocol followed in modern western restaurants is service á la russe where the courses are served sequentially.

*Lord Castlereagh—After being replaced at the peace talks by Wellington, Lord Castlereagh returned home to continue as foreign secretary. Despite an illustrious career, he did not court public opinion and was profoundly unpopular. He committed suicide in 1822.

*Mr Humphry Davy—Davy was apprenticed to a surgeon, became fascinated with his work as an apothecary, learned French, read the works of Lavoisier and was soon doing his own experiments. Davy continued to work in medicine at the Pneumatic Institution in Bristol, but soon moved to London to join the Royal Institution as a lecturer in chemistry. He thereafter earned his fame as one of England's foremost chemists.

*horse had bolted—the situation is past remediation

*factitious airs—gases created by other substance. For example, nitrous oxide was created by dumping iron filings in nitric acid.

*a brown study—a gloomy reverie, hence 'brown'

*flummery—a jelly-like dessert that predates the manufacture of gelatin

*sweet tooth—a partiality for sweet dishes

*short shrift—rapid and unsympathetic dismissal; curt treatment.

*fauteuils—French for arm chair but in English, often associated with a Louis XV style. See the Pinterest board.

*cassino—a card game similar to Go Fish.

*holding her tongue—keeping a secret


	23. Domestic bliss

**Yes, _Lee3619_ , not being seen in mirrors is a part of vampire lore, which I am only selectively incorporating. Darcy is a slightly altered human and thus obeys laws of physics.**

 **Thanks again to _alix33_ for finding some pesty mistakes :)**

 **Suggestions for the title of chapter 22 were:**

 **"The Cat That Got the Cream" by _Lee3619_.**

 **"Pests in Kent" by _Chica de los Ojas Cafe,_**

 **"Blood Light" by _Deanna27_ ,**

 **"Lady Catherine's Court" or "Lady Catherine is Pest Off" by _Dizzy Lizzy.60,_**

 **"The taste of wine and blood" or "Blood is like wine" or "The Pest Cat" by _Laura SaintYves,_**

 **"A pest at court" (or "a pest at her ladyship's court" by _austen16_ ,**

 **"Turtle or pea soup?" by _nessy22_ ,**

 **"The Dinner of their Discontent", "Serving up Condescension", "Heaping Helpings of Haughtiness",** **and of course... "Putting on Factitious Airs" by _amamama_ ,**

 **"Abundant False Airs" by _TMNinjaGinga_**

 **Some very amusing ones there. I was very tempted by "Pest off", _Dizzy Lizzy._ "The Dinner of their Discontent" and "Putting on Factitious Airs" by _amamama_ made me laugh too. I decided to go with "The Pests of Kent" inspired your suggestion, _Chica de los Ojas Cafe._**

* * *

 **Chapter 23**

Despite the interruptions to her slumber, Elizabeth woke early at her customary hour and leaving Mariah sleeping, slipped downstairs to the kitchens. She took tea, chatting amiably with Charlotte as her friend made breakfast. But when Charlotte burnt some toast, Lizzy offered to go off on her walk so that Charlotte might do her work and give directions to the maid unhindered. Charlotte did not object and Lizzy promised to return when the church bell struck nine.

Elizabeth was determined to return to the lake to examine the hut and, not dawdling to examine each flower or prospect as she had done yesterday, she quickly reached the water's edge and began to traverse the path that wound around it. Her first reconnoiter was unsuccessful—Lizzy found herself on the opposite bank viewing the other side of the hut. But walking back carefully beside the reed bed she had passed, Lizzy noticed a gap, then a muddy path. Fortunately she was wearing serviceable boots—for after stepping between the reeds, she encountered several puddles, the largest of which was forded by means of a straddling plank that threatened to become inundated as soon as she walked onto it. With caution, Lizzy found the correct places to step which allowed her to navigate her untrustworthy bridge.

Finally a small pier, hidden from the bank by the reeds and the hut itself, allowed the last yards to be traversed, and Elizabeth found herself at the door. She could see no chain or lock to prevent access and when she turned the knob she was delighted when the door opened and she could peer inside. Lit by a serviceable but grubby window, the small room contained two battered but comfortable leather armchairs disposed about a large and unusual cylindrical metal stove that occupied the entirety of one corner. A battered dresser housed various artefacts including all the apparatus of fishing—nets, hooks and lines. The casual order of its contents suggested the hut was still in use although a fine layer of dust attested that it had not been recently occupied. In short, it was a serviceable fishing hut, no doubt used in the past by Lady Catherine's gamekeeper. Lizzy decided she would ask Charlotte the reason for its current abandonment.

Satisfied with her investigations and knowing her time to be limited, Elizabeth closed the door to depart. Upon stepping onto the pier, she noticed the bow of a small boat protruding from under the hut and crouched down to examine it. It was tied in place to protect it from the weather, with an oilskin lashed over the exposed bow that was not accommodated in the small space available under the edge of the hut. Standing up, Lizzy dusted her hands and set off.

The church bell began to toll as Lizzy stepped off the pier. Fuelled by the excitement of her explorations, she hurried back through the reeds, remembering the safe spots to step on the plank and skipping quickly over it. Picking up her skirts, Lizzy ran quickly towards the parsonage.

The Collins and the Lucases were just sitting down to table when Lizzy entered the dining room. Charlotte apologised for their haste in starting without her—Mr Collins had promised to go to the next parish on an errand for Lady Catherine and did not wish to be late.

At half-past nine a gig pulled up at the front gate and a groom got down to await Mr Collins' pleasure. Hurrying to the vestibule, Mr Collins planted his round clerical hat on his head, gathered up his belongings and bustled outside, closely followed by Sir William who had agreed to accompany him. The ladies followed them to the base of the stairs.

"Hurry up, Mariah!" called Charlotte to her absent sister who had excused herself from the table five minutes earlier. "The gig is here!"

With a squawk, Mariah came leaping down the stairs, two steps at a time, until a remonstrance from her sister to conduct herself in a more seemly fashion slowed her pace. Charlotte buttoned her sister's pelisse while Mariah pushed a bonnet onto her head and tied the ribbons. Fortunately her honey blonde curls framed her face charmingly and disguised the haste with which she had dressed. With a wave Mariah was out the front door where the two gentlemen awaited her in the gig. As the two remaining ladies followed Mariah to farewell the travellers at the front gate, Lizzy saw it was rather a small vehicle, seemingly already filled with the gentlemen. She thought Mariah would have to ride on the backboard but the girl managed to squeeze into the tiny space on the opposite side of her brother-in-law to Sir William.

Mr Collins did not look comfortable in charge of the reins and when the groom let go of the horse's head, nothing happened at all. Sir William had opened his mouth and made a hand motion, presumably to encourage his son-in-law to give the reins a flick, when the groom solved the problem by giving the horse's rump a playful swat. The carriage set off with a jerk, throwing all the occupants momentarily backwards.

"My good man!" remonstrated Mr Collins. But what he said next no one could discern for it was lost in the distance with the rattle of the carriage.

Sucking on a hay straw, the groom barely repressed a smile. But he conquered his mirth admirably and with a solemn face tipped his hat respectfully to Charlotte and walked off.

"I encouraged Mariah to go with Mr Collins by telling her I was going to polish the furniture," Charlotte confessed sheepishly as they made their way back inside. "Once father returns to Hertfordshire there may be little opportunity for privacy."

"And do you really intend to polish the furniture?" asked Elizabeth.

"Of course," said Charlotte. "Lady Catherine said it should be done immediately last night and she will likely arrive in the next day or two to check on the results. But I looked this morning and there is not much beeswax left, so I fancy a walk to the village is warranted, don't you?"

Elizabeth agreed with a chuckle.

Charlotte followed Lizzy up to her room when she went to perform her ablutions and re–don her coat and bonnet for their outing.

"Does Mr Collins go frequently to the neighbouring parish?" asked Elizabeth conversationally.

"As frequently as Lady Catherine asks him. To start off with, he only went to Failford once a month but he has been going more often recently. The parson, Mr Ottley, used to visit Lady Catherine monthly to get advice for the topics of his sermons."

"How extraordinary!" declared Elizabeth. "Is Lady Catherine then very religious?"

"No," replied Charlotte. "She just likes to organise everything."

"So why did his visits stop?" asked Lizzy, before adding with a mischievous smile: "Did Mr Ottley run away too?"

Charlotte laughed. "Definitely not! He has the gout and can no longer travel the three miles comfortably. Mr Collins volunteered to take Lady Catherine's instructions to him."

"That seems extraordinarily good of him."

Charlotte looked a little embarrassed. "Mr Collins is hopeful that Lady Catherine might consider him for the living*, should Mr Ottley choose to retire."

"Is it a better living than Hunsford?" asked Elizabeth sympathetically.

"No, not as good, which is why Mr Ottley still gives the sermons though he can barely climb into the pulpit—he cannot afford a curate. But he is considering retiring to Tunbridge Wells. If Mr Collins shows that he can go easily between the two churches, Lady Catherine may be willing to gift him the living in addition to Hunsford. He could then hire a curate to run things on a day-to-day basis."

"Aside from your lack of servants, which I gather is determined by Lady Catherine, you seem to be quite comfortable. If the living is poor, would the small amount of income be worth the extra trouble?"

"Mr Collins thinks so, and as it is his business, I must rely on him to know," replied Charlotte, before adding, not very suavely: "I hope you slept well last night?"

Understanding, Elizabeth looked at her friend with a smile as she obligingly changed the topic: "Well enough, if you discount the disturbances from my night-time visitor."

"A night-time visitor?" repeated Charlotte, all astonishment.

"A tabby cat," explained Elizabeth. "I presume it came in through the open window, for that is how it left."

"Heavens! It must be Misty! I was afraid she was dead. Did she look like she might recently have had kittens?"

"I'm afraid I did not think to ask her," replied Elizabeth lightheartedly. "Did she recently go missing? Sometimes they do, you know. They go searching for a safe place to have their litter."

"I am afraid Mr Collins gave her search a new direction. She was a stray, but moved into our kitchen soon after I arrived. I named her Misty because she is grey and has that marking like an 'M' on her forehead. She was a lovely cat, so affectionate and a very good mouser, but once it was apparent she was in kitten, Mr Collins became quite determined to get rid of her. He said he didn't fancy drowning a bunch of mewling kittens and took her off in the gig the last time he went to Failford."

"Well, she seems to have made her way back, but without the kittens," remarked Lizzy, giving her bonnet a final check in the mirror.

Basket in hand, the ladies soon set off for the village where they dawdled over their purchases and enjoyed each other's company—Charlotte telling Elizabeth of her new life in Hunsford and Elizabeth relating all the Hertfordshire gossip, the chief of which was the near escape of Miss King from the intrepid

Lieutenant Wickham.

Back at the parsonage, Elizabeth put on her oldest gown to help Charlotte with the polishing, while the maid was sent off to start lunch in the kitchen. Once the door of the parlour was shut, Lizzy felt they could finally be truly private.

"Are you happy, Charlotte?"

"It is not so bad, Lizzy. It is nice to have my own establishment and not feel that horrible guilt that I am imposing on my parents. Lady Catherine is a bit much sometimes but I do not often have to endure her. Nonetheless I can understand why Mrs Comfrey planted that blackberry bush where she did."

"The one Mr Collins wants to take down?"

"Indeed, it hides the prospect of Rosings, which he much laments. Even if the manor house is one of the grandest buildings in Kent, I think the blackberry bush is fine where it is. Mind you, Mr Collins does carp on about it and likely I will eventually have to give way. But I will tell him that he will have to plant another elsewhere and that it should grow as big so that we never lack blackberries before he removes it. I intend to be very industrious making jam in summer."

Elizabeth laughed, seeing Charlotte's strategy. "It must have been a great scandal when the rector's widow ran away with the curate?"

"For Lady Catherine, yes. She never ceases to refer to it. But the villagers have a lot of sympathy for Mrs Comfrey. She visited them when they were sick. The curate too was very popular and Mr Comfrey wasn't. He spent most of his time at Rosings. From what they say, I do not think that any impropriety occurred when Mr Comfrey was alive but it was a little shocking because his widow was still in black gloves*."

"And what induced the curate to leave? He must surely have been a candidate to step into Mr Comfrey's shoes."

"Lady Catherine did not favour him. He apparently did not show the proper obeisance; had had the temerity to express liberal views on occasion. She had told him that he could continue as curate while she searched for another rector and that Mrs Comfrey could stay until the new rector arrived—provided she paid rent. It turned out that Mrs Comfrey had a sizeable independence that Lady Catherine was completely unaware of; something her father had set aside for her but which her husband did not like her to spend—he thought Lady Catherine would not like it. So they ran away together. The curate sent a letter to Lady Catherine saying that they intended to marry Mrs Comfrey by Special Licence* in London. Lady Catherine was furious. Apparently some of the workers in the fields heard her screaming and thought something had happened to Miss de Bourgh, for she does not enjoy the best of health."

Thus did Lizzy begin to understand Charlotte's situation. It was a life of relative comfort but also of stultifying constraint. Her friend bore it all stoically and Lizzy counted her blessings that she had escaped the fate of marrying her cousin.

The rest of the week continued in idyllic relaxation, with Lizzy exploring new paths every morning and often walking out again with Charlotte and the Lucases after breakfast when Mr Collins made his daily visit to Rosings. In the afternoons the visitors walked about the garden while the Collins went about their business. Mr Collins tended his beehives or instructed Charlotte in dealing with the vegetables, while the Lucases and Lizzy entertained them with conversation, occasionally passing a trowel or a string as they were desired. When it was inclement, they took tea and the ladies employed themselves with sewing while the gentlemen read. A letter arrived from Jane who was still unhappily awaiting a visit from the Bingley sisters. Lizzy missed Jane more than ever because the lady currently residing with the Gardiners bore little resemblance to her calmly dignified and self-possessed elder sister.

As to Misty, she visited the parsonage every night and Lizzy was forced to participate in a strange midnight ritual. The cat always arrived sometime after Lizzy had fallen asleep. Elizabeth always woke when the cat landed on the end of the bed. But unlike their initial meeting, the cat refused to settle down until she had rubbed Lizzy's face with her own, purring furiously all the while. Not being used to pets, Elizabeth at first could not like this, but after laughingly pushing the cat away repeatedly the first time it attempted this friendly greeting, Lizzy saw it was not to be deterred and submitted. Thereafter, events progressed much as they had on the first night. At some point during Lizzy's slumber the cat got up from its nap on the end of Lizzy's bed to take its station at the window. Lizzy would wake again when the hissing ensued. Sometimes the cat would leap from the window by its own accord but more often Lizzy would have to get up and shoo it out to cease its protestations. It was on one of these occasions that Lizzy got a glimpse of the cat's archenemy. It was not a dog but a person. Lizzy, sleepily thinking it might be a poacher returning from Rosings park to the village, resolved to tell Charlotte, and then promptly forgot about it once her head was laid on the pillow.

After their initial visit to Rosings, Mr Collins had led his guests to believe that they might reasonably expect another invitation before Sir William's departure, a treat that Charlotte's father looked forward to with great anticipation despite the less than deferential treatment he had received on his first visit. But as the week progressed, no new invitation was forthcoming and Mr Collins began to speak of how busy Lady Catherine was since Mr Darcy's early arrival. She was even too busy to check on th polishing of the furniture.

The inhabitants of the parsonage next saw the Rosings party at church where the service was held a little back in anticipation of their late arrival—a highly unusual circumstance which Mr Collins later advised them was due to Mr Darcy's initial reluctance to attend church in the morning. Apparently Lady Catherine's nephew had taken to frequenting evening services in London. All eyes were turned to the entrance upon their advent. Lady Catherine led the party regally into the narthex, wearing an enormous plumed bonnet that no doubt shielded her from the slightly inclement weather. She was dressed with a baroque elegance that left no one in doubt that the queen had just entered her realm. Behind her, Mr Darcy could be seen collapsing a huge oilskin umbrella that looked more suitable to a deluge than the light rain that had been falling all morning. Thereafter he removed his black top hat, ran a hand through his curly black locks and offered his arm to Miss de Bourgh.

When Mr Darcy followed his aunt into the narthex*, escorting Miss de Bourgh, it could be seen that he was wearing dark coloured glasses that admirably matched his exquisite raiment—a navy swallowtail coat, biscuit-coloured pantaloons and hessians that seemed to rival his dark locks in shiny blackness. A slight frown knit his brows. They made a striking couple, both very pale and aristocratic-looking, and dressed with an expensive modern elegance that formed an interesting contrast to Lady Catherine's sack-backed gown*. Despite the early hour, Miss de Bourgh was wearing a delicate necklace of sapphires that matched the blue silk sash tied under the bosom of her ivory silk gown. She carried a blue feather muff. Behind them all trailed Mrs Jenkinson.

Such a hush had fallen over the villagers on the entrance of the Rosings party that Elizabeth was rather amazed at their deference. But as Lady Catherine passed them without acknowledgement and settled into her special pew at the front, some whispered comments behind Lizzy alerted her that all attention was on Lady Catherine's nephew and Miss de Bourgh. Miss de Bourgh, Lizzy heard from an garrulous shopkeeper fortuitously sitting just behind her, did not generally dress as for a ball to attend church. No doubt, replied her companion, she would be soon walking down the aisle in her bridal clothes with her cousin Mr Darcy, for such was Lady Catherine's dearest wish. As they passed just after this information was imparted, Mr Darcy bit his lips then glanced sideways at Elizabeth. Lizzy almost felt transfixed by his gaze though she could not even see his eyes. She wondered what he meant by it, but as his eyes were hidden behind his glasses and his face was perfectly expressionless she had no hope of guessing.

The service was alternately dull and alarming. During the dull moments, Mr Collins prosed on in an obsequious fashion, smiling and bowing towards Lady Catherine in a way that made Lizzy cringe to think they were even related. During the alarming moments, he turned his attention to the villagers, threatening them all with fire and brimstone. Elizabeth had never heard a sermon quite like it. Her local parson, Mr Hammond, more often reminded the Longbourn congregation to love their neighbours and be charitable towards those less fortunate than themselves.

After the final hymn, Mr Collins came down from his pulpit to personally escort Lady Catherine to her carriage, which turned out to be Mr Darcy's. It was a rather strange affair—a sleek modern town carriage with glossy black panels unembellished except for practical strips of brass in strategic positions, but it was incongruously fitted with black velvet curtains that screened its interior. It looked fast, mysterious, and slightly disreputable—just the sort of carriage Elizabeth imagined a rake might favour. It was only as he was handing Miss de Bourgh into his carriage after her mother, with his umbrella once more aloft, that Elizabeth realised she had never seen Mr Darcy in the daylight before, or at least, not outside. He looked extraordinarily pale and was frowning again.

After his visit to the manor house on Monday, Mr Collins returned full of news. He announced in a self-important fashion that Lady Catherine had been joined at Rosings by another of her nephews—a Colonel Fitzwilliam. Though Mr Collins had not been in service with Lady Catherine long enough to have met the colonel before, he spoke of him as an old friend who had visited Rosings almost annually with Mr Darcy since the death of Lady Catherine's brother-in-law, old Mr Darcy, who had been initiating his son in the management of the Rosings estate before his untimely passing.

Thus Elizabeth discovered that the estate was held in trust not for Lady Catherine but for Miss de Bourgh by several trustees* that included Mr Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam's father, the Earl of Matlock. The earl being a very busy man, much involved in politics, he had delegated his duties towards Rosings to his second son. As Mr Darcy and the colonel had been friends from childhood, the arrangement suited them both very well. The colonel had only missed two visits due to his military service—once when he had been on active service in The Peninsula* and the second time last year, when both he and Mr Darcy had been in Vienna.

"The colonel," continued Mr Collins in a hushed voice, "is rather impecunious, being the earl's second son and having the misfortune of no expectations from some benevolent aged relative."

On Tuesday morning when Elizabeth set out on her early walk, the sun was shining brightly. After an energetic walk, she headed once more for the lake so that she might appreciate its beauty as the light glinted from its waters. Lizzy was so pleased with the prospect from the nearest bank that she decided to return to the hut so that she might dip her hand in the water off the pier. She navigated the untrustworthy plank admirably, startling a frog that was perched on the end of it. With a cheerful apology, Lizzy had just burst into song as she skipped through the reed bed— _'A Froggie went a-courtin' and he did ride, a-hum...'_ —when she was astonished by a deep melodious voice joining hers, _'...with a sword and a pistol by his side, a-hum...'_.

Elizabeth immediately ceased her singing and skipping, to peer cautiously around the last of the reeds. Sitting on the pier was a carelessly dressed man in faded regimentals, with his breeches rolled up and his legs dangling in the water, surrounded by the apparatus of fishing. Despite the deplorable state of his clothing and his ruffled hair, his immaculately trimmed moustache and sideburns proclaimed he was no villager or vagabond.

"Hello!" he said cheerfully. "Here's a lady of my own heart and a very pretty one too!"

"I beg your pardon," said Elizabeth, preparing to retreat.

"Now, now, you must not run off! I'm all alone and sorely in need of companionship. Let me introduce myself—I am Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, wholly at your service. And you, I am guessing, are one of the inhabitants of the parsonage."

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*better living—ie the income from the parishioners is higher

*black gloves—part of the sequence of mourning attire. After a period when all black clothes were worn, the widow usually lightened her mourning by wearing a lilac or grey gown and wearing black gloves. When these were dispensed with, a devoted wife might wear a mourning ring or other jewellery in perpetuity.

*Special Licence—they would have had to marry by Special Licence because they were marrying outside their parish.

*sack-backed gown—an elegant baroque gown that draped from the shoulders at the back. Also known as a robe á la française.

*narthex—the vestibule area of the church which the unbaptised could enter. For this reason it sometimes contains the baptismal font.

*trustees—women were not allowed to own property, but the rich avoided property being ceded to distant male relatives by setting up family trusts.


	24. Dark secrets

**Dear** ** _alix33_** **, not being in the way of vegetable gardening before her marriage, I'm sure Charlotte was instructed in it by Mr Collins who had a miserly father. Once having got in the way of it, I imagine he would then perennially mansplain gardening to Charlotte even after she had mastered the art and could teach him a thing or two.**

 **Suggestions for the title of chapter 23 were:**

 **"Guard Cat" by** ** _Deanna27_** **,**

 **"Misty visits" by** ** _Laure SaintYves,_**

 **"Play Misty For Me" and "Walking the Plank" by** ** _CG4me_** **,**

 **"Mundane Living" or "A Froggie Arrived" by** ** _Chica de Los Ojas Cafe._**

 **Thanks for your suggestions! I decided to go with "Domestic bliss" based on "Mundane Living" by** ** _Chica de Los Ojas Cafe._**

* * *

 **Chapter 24**

"Let me see..." continued the colonel speculatively. "You are not wearing a cap, so I do not think you are Mrs Collins; and you are not so very young, so I do not think you are her sister. I believe you must be Mr Collins' cousin—Miss Bennet from Longbourn."

Despite the colonel's apparent deduction, Elizabeth got the distinct impression that he had known who she was from the moment he had laid eyes on her, but she answered him in form. "Please call me Miss Elizabeth, sir, for I have an elder sister. But I fear I cannot stay long—just until the church bell strikes nine. It was only my intention to come onto the pier to dip my hand in the water—it is such a nice day."

"So you are going to run off like Cinderella when the clock strikes are you? How unsociable! Will you stay longer if I promise to stop flirting?"

"No! I only spoke the truth," laughed Elizabeth. "I will miss breakfast if I do not hasten back on time."

"Have a fish!" suggested the colonel, retrieving one from his basket and jokingly offering it to her.

Elizabeth screwed up her nose in reply.

"Maybe not!" said the colonel, returning the fish to the basket with a mock sigh. "Come! Sit down! Unlike the fish, I will not bite!"

Lizzy sat down carefully a respectable distance from him, being careful to keep the hem of her gown from her muddy boots.

"Well," said the colonel, taking note of her efforts. "I see you made it to the hut without besmirching your gown!"

"Indeed!" laughed Lizzy. "That plank has threatened to drown me of a couple of times but I think I have the trick of it!"

"Beware!" said the colonel with a dramatic flourish. "There is a troll that lives under that plank."

"Really?" said Lizzy archly.

"Yes, just when you least expect it, he will tip you off into the mud."

Although Lizzy suspected the colonel was still flirting, she was not about to let him get the upper hand with his teasing and decided to depress his pretensions by returning fire.

"Is that why you wore that uniform?" she asked archly. "That must be the most disreputably faded jacket I have seen for some time!"

"Have pity on my uniform!" cried the colonel. "It is retired! Besides, this is my lucky uniform. I wore it in The Peninsula and catch more fish in it."

"Really?" returned Lizzy. "And wherein lies the source of its luck?"

To answer, the colonel shifted his fishing rod from his right hand to his left and put his right into his unbuttoned jacket to poke his index finger out through a hole near his shoulder."

"My goodness!" said Lizzy, quite affected. "Is that from a sword or a musket ball?"

"A bullet hole from a French sniper. You see? I'm alive and now this jacket is lucky."

"So you do not wear a cuirass*? You are in one of the light divisions?"

"I gather you do not know much of uniforms, Miss Elizabeth, or perhaps it is my fault, for you are quite right—this uniform is in a sad state. I am in the Life Guards, or at least I am when I am not seconded to Wellington. I do wear a cuirass but I was not on a battlefield when I was pinked in the shoulder, but caught in an ambush."

"Oh dear! Was it very serious?"

"One of my comrades was killed, if that is what you mean. As for myself, I managed to ride back to camp and then disgraced myself totally by fainting before I could get off my horse. It was not serious enough to send me home—just loss of blood. As it was my left shoulder, I muddled through."

Lizzy's interest was fairly caught now and seeing this, the colonel would have been gratified to expatiate more on his adventures, but sadly the church bell began to toll and Lizzy was forced to get up and say her adieus. Before she left, however, the colonel expressed his sincere wish that they might meet again, possibly tomorrow at the same time, or even earlier—hail or shine, he always liked to fish.

After his visitor went off, the cheerful colonel fell into a brown study. His trip to the mother country was not turning out to be the happy reunion with his relatives he had envisaged when he had applied for leave. It had been an ill omen when he found his parents' townhouse in Grosvenor Square deserted: his mother gone off to Matlock and his father away somewhere too—the family butler would not disclose where, a sure sign the earl was not with his mistress but conducting some affair with a lady of the Ton. Rather than trouble the servants in the empty house, Richard had repaired across the square to Darcy House for breakfast, only to find that Darcy had gone to Rosings earlier in the year than was his wont. Nonetheless, Darcy's housekeeper Mrs Flowers assured him that she could have breakfast on the table in a trice, for Miss Georgie was still in residence and would no doubt be down in an hour or so.

As Richard had been Georgie's joint guardian with Darcy since their father's death, he considered it his duty to meet his cousin before departing for Rosings. So the colonel had dined in solitary state until Georgie appeared. Busy in the kitchen, Mrs Flowers had not managed to apprise Georgie of her visitor. Miss Darcy walked into the breakfast parlour unawares and then stood rooted to the ground upon perceiving Richard, flushing terribly. Georgie had recovered presently to bid him good morning in a cheerful voice, but her hesitation and the slight quaver in her voice on speaking were not missed by the colonel and he wondered why he had suddenly become persona non grata* with his ward.

Despite gently quizzing Georgie on how she fared, no explanation for her behaviour had been forthcoming. The colonel suspected she might be in love with a fellow he disapproved of, but before he could rib Georgie gently on the subject, Georgie's new companion Mrs Annesley appeared. After the introductions, the colonel had thought better of his natural inclination to tease his cousin and wisely resolved to ask Darcy what Georgie's problem was first. They talked inconsequentially of the colonel's trip to Vienna, completely avoiding any mention of the Battle of Waterloo, which was the recent event most seared on the colonel's memory. The cousins parted amicably. After calling in vain once more at his parents' townhouse on the off chance that his wayward father might have returned, Richard set off for Rosings.

Arriving in Kent in the early afternoon, the colonel had found even more to concern him. Despite his Aunt de Bourgh's insistence that Darcy was looking prime, Richard could not agree. His cousin was pale and would not meet his eye. There was something indefinably different about Darcy. He seemed more careworn. An attempt to get Darcy to unburden himself over brandy after dinner was for nought. Richard decided not to push the matter. He got the distinct feeling Darcy wanted to let him into his confidence. He would wait until Darcy was ready. Besides, he had other fish to fry.

Their next encounter was not what Richard would have wished. He had gotten into a serious argument with Darcy just before dawn—an almost unprecedented event, for they had been as thick as thieves* since he knew not when. Richard had just let himself out of Anne's room. Not expecting to encounter anyone in the silent house, Richard had not buttoned the jacket of his dress uniform or attempted to conceal the empty bottle of champagne he was carrying. Nor had he bothered to equip himself with a candle. Halfway down the hall, Darcy had loomed out of the darkness, dressed entirely in black.

"Merde!*" yelped the colonel before lowering his voice to a whisper—Aunt de Bourgh's chamber was at the end of the hall. "Where did you come from?"

Darcy did not answer but pulled his cousin into his room. His valet, who had been dozing in a chair, sat up suddenly, but quietly withdrew to the dressing room on seeing his master was not alone.

"I could ask you the same question," said Darcy dryly.

"Very well," said the colonel. "I've got a secret but you have not exactly being forthcoming either. What say we agree to split*?"

Darcy nodded and they sat down on either side of the hearth. The colonel placed the empty champagne bottle on the floor and grabbing the poker, stirred more vigour into the flames of the fireplace. Satisfied, Richard returned the poker to its stand.

"I'm in love with Anne," he said simply.

Darcy seemed to take this information with equanimity. "When did this happen?"

"We've been writing to each other for years. At first I wrote because Mother told me to—whenever Anne was ill. But Anne wrote me a letter when I was in The Peninsula and we started corresponding regularly. I really looked forward to her letters and I enjoyed writing back—it somehow helped me to sort through things in my head. When I was in Vienna, she wrote to tell me that she loved me—it was after you went off to Hungary. At first, I was a bit taken aback. We had grown up together. I hadn't thought of her that way. But then I thought, why not? She's an heiress and I have no prospects. Nor am I dashing enough to engage any other heiress. So I wrote back in a similar style. Things progressed from there."

"You were in her room tonight," said Darcy accusingly, looking at the empty champagne bottle.

"Nothing happened," assured the colonel, before amending this statement with, "...much. How else am I to court her in the circumstances?"

"Do you really think Aunt will contemplate you as a groom?" said Darcy incredulously, knowing Lady Catherine was very ambitious.

"Are you defending your turf?" responded the colonel a little belligerently.

"No!" said Darcy, for he had never wished to marry his cousin. "But once Aunt has let go of this notion that Anne and I will marry, she will look about for some other well off fellow, preferably with a peerage."

"May be," said the colonel, adjusting himself in his seat. "But I think her chances of finding someone suitable are pretty slim. Anne is not well enough to engage in The Season. The only fellows who would be interested would likely be fortune hunters. Besides, Aunt would only be happy with some namby-pamby* fellow she could rule."

"Are you calling me a namby-pamby fellow?" interjected Darcy.

"Settle down! You know you tolerate her in a way no other man of spirit would. The point is, once Anne marries, her husband will own Rosings. He could tell Aunt to take herself off. In fact, he probably would."

"We could do something with the trust...," suggested Darcy.

"Certainly!" said Richard. "But what fellow would stand for that? Only someone who was all to pieces*."

Darcy stared into the fire. "Do you really love her?"

"I'm very fond of her and I wouldn't do anything to hurt her," said Richard sincerely. "There's just one problem."

"What is that?" asked Darcy.

"You," replied the colonel simply.

"If you really love her, I won't object,' assured Darcy.

"That's not what I mean," replied Richard. "Aunt won't contemplate me as Anne's husband while you are unmarried. So what is happening there? When are you going to set up your nursery? Isn't it about time?"

Darcy paled. "Richard you don't understand what you are asking!"

Richard jumped up. "This is ridiculous! You are nearing thirty! You need an heir! Why are you dragging your feet? Mother says you will not even look at the ladies she introduces you to, all of them very eligible. What are you waiting for? The goddess Diana?"

"There were good reasons I was not interested in any of the ladies your mother introduced me to—they're dead bores! All they think about is their gowns and their hair! Is it so wrong to demand a lady of sense?"

"Perhaps you ought to have married the dean's daughter at Cambridge?" sneered Richard.

They glared at each other belligerently.

Then Darcy conceded, "I did find someone recently who was different—a squire's daughter from Hertfordshire."

"Come now, this is hopeful," prompted Richard. "Is she pretty?"

"What? Yes! How is that to the point? The trouble is, I think I'm attracted to her for the wrong reasons."

"What wrong reasons are there?"

"You don't understand, Richard. I've been hiding a terrible secret. I am no longer the man I once was. It happened when I went off on that trip to Pest. All the subterfuge I've had to engage in—it's killing me."

"Darcy," said the colonel gently, "if you've contracted the pox... well, lots of fellows are in the same boat. It's important to marry soon, before it affects your ability to have children*."

"No, Richard. You don't understand," said Darcy, looking his cousin full in the eye. "I am a vampire."

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*cuirass—a steel breast plate worn by the cavalry. The light divisions were so called because they did not wear armour, which was left effective against modern weapons.

*person non grata—an unwelcome person

*as thick as thieves—very friendly, conspiratorial

*merde—French for 'Shit!'

*split—to share information, particularly secrets.

*namby-pamby—weak or ineffectual

*all to pieces—broke, on the verge of bankruptcy.

*the pox (syphilis)—has not been proven to cause infertility in males but it is associated with miscarriages and stillbirths in females.


	25. Interview with the vampire

**Suggestions for the title of chapter 24 were:**

 **"He Won't Bite" by** ** _Clara84_** **,**

 **"A Mystery Unravels" "Confessions" or "The Truth Will Set You Free" by** ** _Chica de Los Ojas Cafe,_**

 **"Smooth operator" by** ** _Dizzy Lizzy.60_** **,**

 **"Better alternatives; Bigger fish; Guesses and answers" by** ** _phyloxena_** **,**

 **"Cat out of the bag" by** ** _quickthorn_** **,**

 **"Getting to the Heart of the Matter" or "Heartfelt Revelations" by** ** _Deanna27_** **,**

 **"The Colonel Goes Fishing" or "Surprise, Surprise" by** ** _CG4me_** **,**

 **"Mysterious Bedfellows" by** ** _anita1788_** **,**

 **"Unexpected Shots in the Dark", "Ambushed", "Sharing Secrets", "Surprising Assignation" or "Nocturnal Confessions" by** ** _amamama_** **,**

 **"Secrets in the Dark" by** ** _Mariafae_** **,**

 **"Guess my secret" or "Nocturnal encounters" or "Surprising confessions" or "Stunning discoveries" by** ** _Laura Saintyves_** **.**

 **I thought of "You've got to be joking" to cover both of the colonel's conversations but decided to go with "Dark secrets" based on** ** _Mariafae's_** **suggestion.**

 **Remember, you need to be logged in to be in the running for a prize, otherwise I may not be able to contact you if you win.**

 **Don't forget you can still read my first two published books** ** _Via Luton_** **and** ** _Time's Up_** **for free if you have an Kindle Unlimited subscription.**

* * *

 **Chapter 25**

If it had been Darcy's object to silence his cousin on the topic of marriage he succeeded admirably. For his part, Richard was ready to believe that Darcy had contracted a malady in Pest, but he was more inclined to think it was something that affected his cousin's mind rather than vampirism. Having lived many years of his adulthood in war zones, the colonel was well aware that one needed to humour the mentally unstable—at least until you could clap them in irons. So he pursued this course with his cousin, asking why he believed he was a vampire.

Darcy briefly described his encounters with Count Bàthory and went on to dutifully list his symptoms—the craving for blood, the aversion for light, the headaches. He described how he drank his bottled blood every night; showed Richard the recently emptied port wine bottles that had been filled with the blood of venesection and described his visits to the tenants' cottages afterwards to sate the final pangs.

"You bite the tenants?" asked the colonel, trying to stifle the note of incredulity that had crept into his voice.

"I must!" defended Darcy. "If one does not, the cravings become unbearable. I risk attacking my valet, Georgie or anyone else who is at hand. In my crazed state, I could easily kill them, or worse, turn them into such as I am."

"And just how does that occur?" asked the colonel politely.

"It happens if one draws blood from the donor too long. I keep a watch with a second hand to ensure I do not err—a minute is all that is safe."

Darcy pulled out the watch the count had given him. The colonel accepted this and appeared to examine it while asking Darcy to describe his meetings with Count Bàthory in more detail.

But once the questions started going in circles with more information being requested on each cycle, Darcy became frustrated. He got up and started pacing as Richard continued to quiz him. Finally he leapt at Richard suddenly, pinning him in his chair and baring his fangs at him.

"My God!" Richard yelped, the whites of his eyes showing.

The colonel made a spirited but unsuccessful attempt to fight his way from his cousin's grasp. It was his inability to break free just as much as the fangs and the wild look in his cousin's eye that convinced Richard that Darcy spoke nothing but the truth. They had wrestled each other playfully from a young age. Being three years younger than the colonel, Darcy's youth had always counted against him in their early bouts. But once Darcy reached Richard's height and even gained a few inches on him, they had been almost evenly matched for a short period. But then the colonel had put on weight and the combination of that and his constant training had given him the advantage once more. Now, it was clear that Darcy was the far superior combatant. His unnerving strength and lightening reflexes had effectively neutralised every move the colonel had made.

With a superhuman effort, for the combat had stirred some predatory instinct inside him, Darcy finally released his cousin to withdraw to the shadows. "Now do you believe me?" he asked from the gloom.

The colonel took a deep breath. "You are quite in control of yourself?" he asked tentatively, afraid he had unleashed a monster.

"Yes, I have fed," Darcy assured him quietly.

Richard tried to still his pounding heart. Glancing around, he noticed that Darcy's valet had come to the dressing room door, no doubt summoned by the noise of their tussle.

"Your valet knows then? Has known from the start?"

"Not from the start, but he began to suspect something when we were travelling to Zagreb—the way I kept disappearing at night. Apparently I was not as discreet as I might have been when we first arrived in the city. He followed me. I am more careful now. Finn kept his revelation to himself for a while, but there was an incident in London... which I will tell you about later... when I needed his help. He revealed his knowledge of my condition. If you have any doubts of my mental stability, he has witnessed things that will leave you in no doubt that I am what I say I am."

"Such as?" prompted the colonel.

Darcy sighed and regrouped. He felt Finn would be wasting his breath on Richard. As always, actions seemed to work louder than words with his cousin. "Finn, my razor," he requested.

The colonel was a little perturbed by this order and stood to keep his options for escape open. But upon being handed the razor, Darcy drew up his sleeve, and before Richard could protest, drew a thin line down his forearm from which blood immediately began to trickle. He showed it to Richard while mopping at the edges of the wound with a black silk handkerchief to ensure that his blood did not stain his aunt's Aubusson* carpet.

"It is not deep. But by the time I come down for breakfast at eleven it will not be there, Richard, as you will see. I have recovered from mortal wounds. Ask your mother if you do not believe me."

The invocation of the countess had a powerful effect on the colonel who knew his mother would never lie to him. "When did you sustain a mortal wound and why wasn't I told?"

Darcy bit his lip. He feared that Richard might do something rash if he discovered that Wickham and Georgie were involved. "I was shot one night in St Giles. I managed to get back to the townhouse afterwards."

"You attacked someone and they defended themselves with a pistol?"

"Yes. Dr Stevens said it pierced both my lung and my stomach. Out of my earshot—or so he thought, for that is something that has changed also—he told your father I would almost certainly die a slow and lingering death. But Finn was able to supply me with blood and within a day I was out of my bed. We fled to Bedfordshire to disguise my rapid recovery."

"One day?" asked the colonel, astonished.

"By the time Bingley visited me around midday the next day, the wound had completely closed over. Finn, was it not so?"

"Yes, sir. It was a gaping wound when they brought the master in near midnight—mortal bad. He was barely conscious. I thought it was the end. But when Mr Bingley came to call it was completely closed over; the flesh pink and new."

"I can assure you, it is very difficult to kill a vampire," said Darcy. "I have had to deal with one myself as per the count's instructions. It requires complete obliteration or beheading."

The colonel stared at his cousin in amazement. A veteran of war, Richard had not thought his gentle cousin had the killer instinct within him. He suddenly felt weak as his mind accepted the outlandish as the most likely explanation.

"Do you have any brandy?" Richard managed.

Despite his preference for mislabelled port, Darcy did indeed have brandy. The cousins sat back down in front of the hearth while Finn fetched the glasses.

"Are you still able to sire children?" asked the colonel, whose resilient mind had returned to the original problem.

"What need I of an heir?" said Darcy with grim irony. "According to the count, I am going to live forever."

Richard viewed him with scepticism. "Are you seriously telling me that this count has not aged since his transformation two hundred years ago?"

"He claimed he was in his late twenties when he was transformed and he does not look above thirty-five. He gave no proof of his antiquity but given the veracity of everything else about him—his fangs, his inordinate strength—why should I doubt him?"

"I suppose it is too early for you to have noticed any escape from the ravages of time in yourself. You are still in the prime of your life. God! I already look ten years older than you after my stint in the Peninsula!" said the colonel with some envy. "How the sun beats down in Spain!

"But be sensible, Darcy," chided the colonel. "You cannot continue as the master of Pemberley for ever. For a start, people would notice if you did not age."

"I know," said Darcy wearily. "I suppose I could pretend to age—Finn could powder my hair; do things with maquillage*. But eventually I would have to disappear; perhaps fake my own death. I intend to leave Pemberley to Georgie's eldest son or daughter." A tic beat briefly in the Darcy's jaw as his rage against Wickham flared again and was smothered. That was what had been so especially upsetting about Georgie's elopement—the thought that even if she married Bingley, it might be George's get* who inherited Pemberley.

"Perhaps that would work," Richard admitted consideringly. "Has the count any children? And are they vampires or that other thing I can't remember the name of."

"Dhampir*?" offered Darcy. "No, the count says dhampir don't exist. He believes that legend may have arisen from children whose parents were transformed imitating their behaviour. And yes to your first question—the count has a dozen or so children, but he only started fathering them in his second century. They are not vampires."

"Are you saying that vampires do not reach sexual maturity until they are one hundred?" asked Richard incredulously.

"I have no idea and neither does the count. For the first decades of his existence he lived with another vampire named Ursula. They did not think it was possible for them to conceive but finally Ursula realised she was with child. She was at first overjoyed but as the baby got larger she began to experience pain. It seemed her body was unable to adapt to the child growing inside her. As the pregnancy progressed, the pain became worse and eventually she was bleeding constantly. The count wanted to end it but Ursula would not agree—she thought she could endure it but it sent her mad. One night she jumped from a tower before he could stop her."

The colonel sipped his brandy and listened, trying to suspend his disbelief.

"The count said he did not have congress with a woman for a long time after that," continued Darcy, "partly because he mourned Ursula, but also because he could not discern the difference between blood lust and ordinary lust. Eventually he started an affair with an actress whom he had visited as a donor. She conceived a child within three months of the beginning of their physical relationship. The count told me he has been judicious in his amorous affairs. He keeps his loves as mistresses but does not visit them regularly, for to live with them would reveal his true nature. But he loves them as wives, only keeping one at a time and providing generously for the woman and any children. Over the past hundred years he has sired a dozen children. The eldest have grown old and died, never knowing their father was a vampire."

"My God! You don't contemplate such an existence for yourself do you? It sounds incredibly lonely—though I expect there are some men whom it would suit admirably, but not you. Surely if you are capable of siring children, you could at least live the first decades of your life in a semblance of normality?"

"What woman would have me? My nocturnal habits, the ruse with the port—she would likely deem me a drunkard!"

Richard could see that it would not be easy, but knowing the very separate existences his parents led, he did not think it impossible. The problem was that Darcy almost certainly had different notions of domestic bliss—his parents had been very close. Mr Darcy had pursued Lady Anne with ardency. His good looks, wealth and devotion had won her despite the difference in their stations. Their marriage had been one of true felicity. He had gone into a slow decline after her death when Darcy was twelve, that not even his love for his children could halt. Trying to direct his mind into more hopeful avenues, Richard grasped at the only straw he could think of.

"This lady you met in Hertfordshire, tell me about her."

"What is there to tell? From the instant I saw her I was powerfully attracted to her but I do not know why. I suspect it is her blood. I did not explain earlier, but not all blood tastes the same. In particular, the blood of some is unpalatable. The count and I have been arguing over this point for some months—he thinks there is only one group of unpalatables but I think there are at least two. That was how I was able to comfortably stay with the Bingleys—they are of the count's unpalatable group."

"So you think your lady is the opposite of unpalatable?"

"I do not even know if such a thing exists! The count thinks I am in love with her—that I am confusing lust and bloodlust in my mind. He seems to recall feeling the same for Ursula, but such has been the passage of time, he cannot be sure. He has recognised the two as distinct feelings for over a century and thinks that my youth and inexperience are not allowing me to make the distinction, as was the case for him in his youth. But as both he and Ursula were vampires, I am not sure I can rely on his advice at all."

"Perhaps I can help," mused the colonel, "even if it is just by getting you to describe your feelings aloud. Tell me more about this girl from Hertfordshire. What is her name?"

"Her name is Elizabeth Bennet. She is one of five daughters of the squire of Longbourn—the second eldest. The first time I saw her was at an assembly. I hardly noticed her at first. Her eldest sister is the beauty of the family—she has her mother's colouring, blonde hair and bright blue eyes like sapphires. Bingley was much taken with her—to my considerable dismay—for his infatuation threatened to ruin my plans for safeguarding Georgie's reputation. Elizabeth is beautiful but in a more subtle way—she has dark brown hair and eyes that speak of intelligence. When I encountered her in the progression, something seized me—I felt jolted."

"Lightning struck, eh?"

"I don't know if it was her scent or her touch. We were both gloved but I felt the jolt through the material. Such speaking eyes—it was like we recognised each other. It threw me. As soon as I withdrew from her presence, it started. I wanted to touch her again. My fangs ached. I began to imagine spiriting her away into the night, in flashes that seemed to goad me to do the deed. I was overcome. I had to leave the assembly room and go slake my bloodlust, even though I had already fed that night. I spent the rest of the night forcing myself further away from her, all the while fantasising about going back to find her."

"That seems a pretty normal infatuation to me," suggested Richard.

Darcy looked at his cousin incredulously. "Do you honestly tell me that your teeth ache?"

"May be the ache is a little lower down," conceded the colonel. "When did you next meet her?"

"Ah!" said Darcy. "That was also memorable! Bingley has two sisters. One day they invited the eldest Miss Bennet to Netherfield for lunch. She was caught in the rain on her journey over and was forced to stay overnight due to the weather. By morning she had fallen ill with a sick cold and was bedridden. By midday Miss Elizabeth arrived to visit her sister. I shall never forget her appearance as she walked through the door. Her hair was tousled by the wind, her colour high. I was so affected I sank my fangs into my lower lip."

"Does that happen often?" asked the colonel in mock solicitude. He was beginning to feel a little silly—that slightly giddy feeling in his stomach. The combination of the brandy on top of the champagne and an increasing sense of unreality were beginning to play on him. He felt that at any moment he might burst out laughing hysterically, as he had often done with comrades over morbid war jokes. He reined the feeling in.

"No!" replied Darcy in all earnestness. "But perhaps there were extenuating circumstances. I was not used to my fangs then. They had only just grown long enough to injure me and I did not have perfect control over them..."

"So they did not just appear when you were transformed? They grew over a period of time?"

"Yes! And ached intermittently all the while. Thank God that has stopped now," said Darcy before resuming his story. "Elizabeth left to go upstairs to her sister. I could hardly think a cogent thought. She was in Bingley's house! With me! I would have to sit by her at dinner when all I wanted to do was have her for dinner! I was beside myself. But it got worse—she was invited to stay overnight. Despite going off early to sate my thirst and distract myself, and getting Finn to tie me to the bed so that I did not wander during the night, I woke up in her bed."

"Lord, Darcy! You didn't...?"

"No, but after waking up and realising my situation, I do not think that I breathed for the entire next minute—at least until I had established that her body was not in the room. It turned out that I had likely not encountered her at all—she moved to her sister's room before retiring for the night. Sometime during the early hours of the morning, I had chewed through the bandages Finn had bound me with and wandered into her room, though I have no memory of it. Subsequently Finn chained me to the bed every night."

The colonel raised his eyebrows at this but said nothing. He thought it sounded like something they got up to at the Hellfire Club*.

"The next day she walked into the study—a room I had particularly claimed as my own at Netherfield. The impulse to close the door upon her was strong but I resisted. I spoke with her for the first time. She was interested in the chemistry set I had left out on a table."

"Lud!" smirked the colonel. "A gal after your own heart!"

"She spoke well," said Darcy, ignoring his cousin's teasing. "Her father is a scholar. I discovered later that she actually performs alchemical experiments, although she only dabbles in it. The chief of her time in her still room is spent brewing perfectly innocuous things like small beer."

Darcy suddenly became pensive as his mind drifted to his next alchemical encounter with Miss Elizabeth on the balcony at the Netherfield Ball—the way her eyes had seemed to sparkle as he lit the match.

"So that is it?" the colonel prompted. "The entirety of your extraordinary romance?"

"No!" protested Darcy, retrieving his place in his narrative. "Thanks to Finn I kept away from her during the rest of her stay at Netherfield. But once she went back to Longbourn, I found myself running over there every night, staring at the windows of the upper floor, hoping for a glimpse of her. I had been doing this for about a week before she shot me."

"I beg your pardon," interjected Richard, whose comic vision of Darcy as Romeo had been severely jolted by his last utterance. "I thought you said she shot you?"

"You heard correctly," said Darcy, then swiftly explained upon seeing Richard's shocked look. "I did not attack her. I merely made the mistake of standing too near the chicken coop."

"Now I am completely flummoxed*," admitted Richard.

"There was a chicken thief in the area around that time, although there was some dispute as to whether it was a fox. Most of the depredations were in the vicinity of Meryton but clearly they had heard of the news at Longbourn. I had taken to standing next to the coop because it was in the shadow of a large oak. The hens had cackled once or twice, for they were a little nervous of my presence. But one night they got into a grand fuss. I had been trying to use mesmerism to bring her to the window. As I told you, it is how the count subdues his donors. Lord! I wonder if the chickens were objecting to that? I had not made the connection before..."

"You see!" said the colonel with a smirk. "Enlightenment already! Chickens are unsettled by mesmerism! Perhaps they are chicken-hearted?"

"Do you really want to hear this or not?" asked Darcy tartly.

"Forgive me," begged the colonel.

"The front door of the manor house opened and Elizabeth stepped out. At first I thought I had been successful in drawing her out. Then I realised she had a fowling piece* in her hand. I suppose I must have been the one who was mesmerised, for she lowered it and gave me both barrels before I could dodge out of the way. Perhaps there were extenuating circumstances, I seem to recall tripping on something."

"Peppered you in the leg did she?"

"No, she caught me square in the chest. The gun she was carrying was no toy. Finn was plucking the lead pellets out of me for an hour once I got home."

"Another example of the master's regenerative abilities, sir," offered Finn, as if in chorus. "Some of the lead was embedded so deeply in the master's flesh, I thought I would have to cut it out with a scalpel. The master would not let me, wishing to get his rest, but by the next morning his body had expulsed most of the pellets."

"Interesting," said the colonel pensively before adding flippantly: "The things you do for love! I do hope that cured you of stalking your Amazon?"

"She is not an Amazon!" protested Darcy hotly. "She is quite petite but with the courage of a lion! As to deterring me, pooh! what do you think I am made of, butter? I went back the next night."

"I can definitely see you are obsessed," observed the colonel wryly.

Darcy did not deny it and Finn was glad to see that his master was now openly admitting he had been stalking Miss Elizabeth rather than maintaining his visits were to check on her welfare. Darcy skipped his brief interlude with Miss Elizabeth at the Lucases' soirée, which had been marred by the advent of George Wickham.

"There was an incident a couple of nights later that made me begin to suspect that my interest in Miss Elizabeth might not be totally vampiric," he continued. "Longbourn was at that time being visited by Aunt's parson, Mr Collins, who is a cousin of Miss Elizabeth's. The estate is entailed and he is the heir. You will meet him tomorrow, for he visits almost every morning. A more infuriating person you are not likely to meet. His stupidity and grovelling are almost too much to bear. I cannot witness it without wishing to squeeze his head between my hands like Tipu Sultan*."

The colonel raised his eyebrows at his cousin's unusual vehemence. "As bad as old Comfrey?"

"Far worse," Darcy assured him. "I did not know Collins then, which is just as well, for on my nightly visit to Longbourn I witnessed him proposing to Miss Elizabeth. I was outraged. I know it is ridiculous, but I felt such an overwhelming sense that she belonged to me and only me. I could see she did not welcome his advances. I tried to call to her with my powers of mesmerism and to my delight she came to me—for I was not confident in my abilities then. Imagine my chagrin when I discovered she was not mesmerised at all. She had fled from her cousin by her own free will. I touched her neck. It was different to the first time—not a jolt, almost the opposite. I did not want to take my hand away; almost as if she was a lodestone*. I think she felt it too—she invited me inside."

"Is that not dangerous? Does it not then allow you to cross the threshold whenever you wish?"

That is rubbish," said Darcy dismissively. "As the count says, we are still men and can cross a threshold like any gentleman. In retrospect, I realise she probably wanted to avoid being alone with her cousin."

"I gather she did not end up marrying the dreaded Mr Collins?" observed the Colonel.

"No. I thought he would likely marry one of the younger Bennet sisters after her rejection. I was quite surprised to discover he married Miss Elizabeth's best friend. Still, there appear to be no hard feelings between them—Mrs Collins' father and sister came to visit her recently and Miss Elizabeth came with them. She is currently staying at the parsonage."

"Ah!" replied the colonel, who thought he now understood the reason for Darcy's early visit to Kent.

"Still," said Darcy, returning to his narrative, "the incident gave me pause. I realised I was tempting fate by constantly returning to Longbourn. You may think I have not learnt my lesson, for I have visited the parsonage every night since discovering she is currently staying with her cousin, but I have better control over my impulses now. Nonetheless, I did the sensible at the time and the next night I convinced one of Longbourn's tenants to act as a keeper and went there no more."

"Now you have lost me," complained the colonel. "What the hell is a keeper?"

Darcy explained about the anomalous vampires and the count's method for keeping them in check.

"So that was what you were referring to when you said vampires are difficult to kill? It was a vampire you had unintentionally spawned rather than another you had just encountered?"

"Yes," said Darcy, shuddering. "I have only had to deal with one such but it was truly horrible. I give my keepers two sets of birds—one group homes to Mayfair, the other to Pemberley. They are to release one from each cage if there is trouble. As I was residing in London, I was able to return to St Giles where the birds were released on the evening of the same day. There were runners from Bow St milling about in pairs, gone there to investigate after the discovery of several corpses that day. They had already dubbed their quarry 'The Ripper' based on the injuries to the bodies. I set off over the rooftops so that I could quickly cover as much ground as possible."

"You can fly?" asked the colonel incredulously.

"No!" replied Darcy scornfully, "but I can jump. The houses are so squashed together in the rookeries, the lanes so narrow, that one need hardly touch the ground. I was able to locate him quickly when I heard a woman scream. He was no match for me. I quickly hauled him to the rooftops before the runners could descend on us. He was quite feral, completely out of his mind and trying to gnash at me with his teeth. May God forgive me, but that was the end of him"

"You saved many by your quick action!" assured the colonel. "I doubt the runners were prepared to deal with something like that! And if it bit them but did not kill them, I suppose they too would have turned into vampires?"

"Only if it drank from them long enough. As the young ones do not have proper fangs, they tend to kill their victims by tearing at their flesh, as the count described his mother doing. The rumour in St Giles was of a werewolf on the loose."

"So I suppose most 'vampire outbreaks' are self-limiting," mused the colonel. "The truly dangerous ones are the vampires tutored by their makers."

"If you are thinking of finishing me off, then I urge you to be thorough," said Darcy. "Take me by surprise when I am sleeping during the day and make sure to obliterate me."

"I see a perfectly rational and controlled creature in front of me," replied the colonel. "I begin to think this count knew what he was doing."

As the cousins sat by the hearth, each immersed in their own thoughts, the first light of dawn showed at the window. Before the sun's rays could disturb his master, Finn drew the curtains.

"The master should sleep now before breakfast," suggested Finn gently.

So the colonel had gone off, much troubled, absentmindedly leaving his empty champagne bottle behind. Although he had repaired to his bedchamber, he was too rattled to sleep. Instead of donning his nightshirt, Richard pulled on his old uniform and set off to the tranquility of the lake, to fish and think.

The colonel was stone cold sober by the time he sat on the pier. His mind wandered to some very dark places over the next hour. The jokester fuelled by drink and incredulity had completely disappeared. Richard realised he had been struggling to accept his cousin's revelation. Worse still, his mind, bent on marriage after his tryst with Anne, had then proceeded according to his initial plans, trying to thrust Darcy into matrimony before him. He had been trying to bang a square peg into a round hole*. Now Richard examined the situation with more perspective. Was his cousin a fit groom for any lady? Was he indeed a fit heir for Pemberley?

Richard's thoughts reached their nadir when he seriously considered carrying out his cousin's request to do away with him. Being a cavalryman, Richard's first instinct was to decapitate the monster his cousin had become with his sword, though it would not do to botch it. If Darcy could jump from rooftops without injury, it was likely that his body was made of sterner stuff than the average man. Still, Darcy said he had been seriously injured by a pistol in the rookeries. Perhaps blood loss would be enough to incapacitate him? He would have to work quickly after that. Clearly Richard could not set upon Darcy in his aunt's house without drugging her first. _More_ _complication_. It would be better to do the deed elsewhere. Nor would Darcy's servants ever let Richard get away with murdering their master in either of his households, so it would have to be on the road—perhaps when Darcy was travelling between London and Derbyshire...

Struggling with these morbid thoughts, the colonel yet heard the squelch of someone stepping on the plank near the hut—his military training served him well. And when that someone unexpectedly burst into a cheery song, Richard was ready with the next line, for it was a song after his own heart, one he had whistled many a time.

Richard was more than intrigued when the pretty lady who had peered around the reeds confirmed she was indeed Elizabeth Bennet. So Darcy's love had sat on the pier with him for a short time and Richard had found it easy to temporarily forget his cares and light-heartedly flirt with such a pretty lass. He judged her to be about twenty.

After Elizabeth left, Richard's heart paradoxically felt incomparably lighter. Darcy's obsession was a lady who bore no resemblance to a hapless female in a novel, harassed by a fiend and pining for her hero to set her free. Bright, witty—Miss Elizabeth Bennet was everything that was free-spirited and lovely. Should he have expected anything less from a lady interested in alchemy? Suddenly Richard felt less like he was caught up in some tragedy. The cloud suddenly disappeared from the colonel's horizon.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*Aubusson—a fine tapestry or carpet made in the French town of Aubusson, very expensive and popular during the Georgian period.

*get—progeny

*Dhampir—originating in Balkan folklore, dhampir refers to any hybrid of one human and one vampire parent. They are not vampires themselves, but a half-breed of both.

*Hellfire Club—Hellfire Clubs were exclusive clubs for high society rakes established in Britain and Ireland in the 18th century, where they indulged in immoral acts.

*flummoxed—confused, northern dialect

*fowling piece—a shot gun

*Tipu Sultan—a southern Indian king, with the assistance of the French Republic, resisted British colonialism in the Anglo-Mysore War. Tipu's executioners were strongmen who could crush a man's skull with their bare hands. For a fictionalised account see Sharpe's Tiger.

*lodestone—a natural magnet

*to bang a round peg into a square hole—to force something to conform that does not, often used to refer to misfits.


	26. Elementary

**Thanks** ** _alix33_** **for finding yet more bloopers. And to** ** _Beaty_** **for spotting the continuity error with Charlotte's age.**

 **Suggestions for the title of chapter 25 were:**

 **"Stalker", "Obsessed", "Love, Lust, or somewhere in Between" by** ** _Chica De Los Ojas Cafe_** **,**

 **"Once more, from the top" by** ** _YepItsMe_** **,**

 **"Losing his head" by** ** _Windchimed_** **,**

 **"Trial and Error" or "Trial by Bathory" by** ** _Dizzy Lizzy.60,_**

 **"Interview with the vampire" or "Overwhelming confession" or "To kill or not to kill" by** ** _Laura Saintyves,_**

 **"Burdened" by _nessy22_ ,**

 **"True Confessions"** **, "Full Disclosure", "The Proof is in the Fangs", "Burdens Lifted, Burdens Shared", "Two Heads are Better than None", "Is He or Isn't He", "Vampire Chronicles" by** ** _SacredWoman2K_** **,**

 **"Fangs, FinnFacts for Fitzwilliam" by** ** _Deanna27_** **,**

 **"BLOOD REveLATIONS" by** ** _beaty_** **,**

 **"Inconceivable" or "Let Me Explain/Let Me Sum Up" by** ** _amamama_**

 **Lots of great suggestions there including the clever pun by _Beaty_. I loved "Inconceivable" by _amamama_ , but I think I will go with the nod to Anne Rice with "Interview with the vampire" by _Laura Saintyves._**

* * *

 **Chapter 26 Elementary**

Sometime after Elizabeth left, the colonel judged it likely that the other inhabitants of Rosings would be stirring and he set off from the lake to return to the manor house. His aunt typically breakfasted at eleven. Richard stopped first at the back door to hand the fish to a maid before traversing the kitchen and rose gardens to go in by a side entrance. During his walk, the sweet perfume of spring encouraged him to pluck some roses before he thought better of it. He knew Anne typically found it difficult to sleep once the sun had risen, which would normally have allowed him some time alone with her, but he had kept her up most of the night, talking and kissing, which probably meant that she would not come down before his aunt. Richard was just thinking of surreptitiously discarding the blooms before entering the house when he saw the window of the breakfast parlour was open—the sign Anne had suggested to indicate that she had come downstairs and was alone.

Peering cautiously through the open window, Richard saw his cousin lying on a sofa with a book on her lap, looking pale and wan. Her eyes were closed but upon his drawing nearer, she opened them, possibly sensing his shadow or hearing a movement. When Richard proffered the bouquet, some colour stole into Anne's cheeks as she accepted the flowers.

"What are you reading?" he asked softly, reaching down to gently squeeze her hand.

"Oh, just a silly romance," she replied, sniffing the blooms contentedly. "A novel called _The Necromancer_ by Ludwig Flammenberg about a supernatural being who comes back from the dead. I am comparing the English translation to the original in German."

Before the colonel could tease his cousin about the odd combination of her appalling taste in novels and her linguistic erudition, the door opened and Darcy walked into the breakfast parlour, upon which it occurred to Richard that the novel was perhaps not so silly after all.

Anne tried to remove her fingers from Richard's grasp before her newly arrived cousin could notice, for she did not wish to hurt his feelings. Darcy was wearing his coloured glasses and shielding his eyes against the light from the window as if he had indulged too much in drink, so Anne did not think he had done more than register her presence. But Richard proved uncooperative, refusing to relinquish her hand.

"He knows," he whispered.

Anne looked at Richard, wondering when he had managed to talk to their cousin. But before she could say anything in reply, the sound of her mother advancing down the hallway could be heard, dispensing orders to the servants and Mrs Jenkinson. The colonel hastily blew a kiss to Anne and withdrew from the window.

"Good morning, cousin," said Anne gently to Darcy, swinging her feet off the sofa to the floor.

"Good morning, Anne," returned Darcy civilly. He had detected Richard at the window from his scent despite the blinding light emanating from it but diplomatically chose to say nothing before his aunt's imminent eruption.

Anne noticed Darcy did not bend to kiss her hand as he normally did. He really did look to be in some pain.

"Ah!" said Lady Catherine loudly, entering to survey the room, "did your cousin Darcy give you those, Anne? Such a pretty bouquet!"

"I have but just walked in," said Darcy, still shielding his eyes.

"Oh! Poor Mr Darcy!" exclaimed Mrs Jenkinson. "Do you have another of your horrible migraines? Shall I close the curtains?"

"Please," replied Darcy shortly.

"I picked them myself, Mama," said Anne, handing the bouquet to a maid. "The perfume from the garden drew me into it."

Lady Catherine seemed disappointed and turned her attention to her suffering nephew. "No coat?" she asked, viewing Darcy's shirtsleeves and waistcoat askance as the curtains were drawn. She could not think the diamond pin in his cravat lent the necessary formality.

"It is very warm," replied Darcy dismissively as he waited for his aunt to be assisted into her chair by Mrs Jenkinson and a footman before seating himself.

Five minutes after the church bells had struck eleven, the colonel entered the breakfast parlour, having changed his faded uniform for more respectable civvies*. The dishes were still being placed upon the table.

"You are late," said Lady Catherine with disfavour.

"I beg your pardon," replied the colonel, seating himself beside Darcy. "I went fishing. If we are lucky, the cook may have served us the fruits of my labours," he said, lifting several covers in exploration. "Here we are!" he exclaimed triumphantly, revealing three fish, "Tom, Dick and Harry!"

"I do not like fish for breakfast," declared Lady Catherine, "and neither does Anne!"

"More for us then, Darcy?" said the colonel sanguinely, and then with an evil grin at his cousin, "Or do you prefer red meat?"

"I'll take some fish," said Darcy, looking over his dark glasses at his cousin and narrowing his eyes.

A desultory conversation was conducted over the dishes until Lady Catherine disappeared behind _The Morning Pos_ t, sent down from London as usual that morning. When Mrs Jenkinson bent down to arrange Lady Catherine's footstool—for her ladyship suffered a little from the gout—Darcy whipped out his left cufflink and pulled up his shirtsleeve quickly, baring his lower arm to the colonel, but shielding it from the other diners below the tablecloth.

As Richard had expected once he had accepted Darcy's tale, no wound was visible on Darcy's arm. The colonel grinned, which reaction took his cousin by surprise. But it just so happened that Darcy's surreptitious action had reminded Richard of the hijinks they had used to get up to at Rosings when they were young, the most memorable of which resulted in the accidental escape of a frog under the dinner table. Mischief gleamed in the colonel's eye. Eyeing Darcy steadily, Richard tugged slowly on one end of his cravat, undoing the knot. Anne, who was seated closest to them, looked on goggle-eyed as Richard appeared to be undressing himself at the breakfast table. He raised an eyebrow provocatively at her.

Unfortunately at that moment, Lady Catherine chose to share her opinion on an article she was reading. Lowering the paper in preparation to unleashing a diatribe, she was in time to intercept Richard's glance at her daughter.

"What on earth are you doing, Richard?" she asked acerbically.

"I caught my signet in my cravat," replied Richard without missing a beat. "Cousin Anne is laughing at my expense."

"How careless of you!" smiled Anne who was also remembering the great frog debacle and wondering what was going on. Her cousins had been perfectly sensible and staid grown-ups for years.

Richard got up to retie his cravat in the mirror and the incident passed off.

Half an hour later, a footman came in to announce to Lady Catherine that her carriage was ready.

"You are going off?" asked Darcy, who had hoped to question his aunt about several extraordinary expenditures he had discovered in the logbooks.

"Dr Jeffreys tells me Mr Ottley had a minor stroke last night. The doctor does not think he will be able to give the sermon this Sunday. I have arranged to drive over with Mr Collins to check on his welfare and arrange matters."

Darcy hoped his aunt did not intend to bully Mr Ottley in his sickbed.

"If you do not mind, Anne, I will take Mrs Jenkinson with me to carry my basket," asked Lady Catherine perfunctorily.

Anne quickly disclaimed any urgent need for her supposed companion whose attributed task might have been performed by a footman. Without further ado the two departing ladies left, followed attentively by all the servants.

"Well!" said the colonel, wiping his chin with his napkin, and looking at his two cousins. "How convenient! While the cat's away*, eh?"

* * *

At the parsonage, the day of Sir William's departure for Hertfordshire had been disrupted by Mr Ottley's illness. Lady Catherine had withdrawn the offer of a gig to convey Sir William's baggage to the next town where a post chaise could be hired. Instead, a village boy had to be sent off from the local inn to Hamley on a horse to arrange the post chaise to come to the parsonage, which increased the charges. Sir William put the slight off cheerily, claiming that Mr Ottley's need was higher than his own, but Charlotte silently ground her teeth, for she knew that Lady Catherine had sufficient horses and servants to comfortably accommodate both journeys. The grande dame simply required all effort to be directed towards herself when it was required so that she was not inconvenienced in any way.

After seeing her father comfortably bestowed for his departure at eleven, Charlotte was hopeful that she would have some time with Elizabeth in the afternoon once Mr Collins went off with Lady Catherine at half-past twelve, but alas! It was not to be. Upon arriving on the doorstep of the parsonage, Lady Catherine expressed surprise that Mr Collins had not arranged for the curate to accompany them, as he would likely be delivering the sermon at Failford on Sunday. When Mr Collins pointed out that the curate was needed in the village to ring the bells, Lady Catherine snappishly expressed the opinion that the curate should have trained the village boys sufficiently that they could manage on their own at a pinch*. Mr Collins forbore to repeat the curate's lament that between stupidity and mischief he had his hands full with his bell ringers. He hurried off to the village to retrieve the curate, leaving Charlotte to offer Lady Catherine and Mrs Jenkinson tea.

Finally the party set off for Failford with the curate perched on the Dickie seat of Lady Catherine's carriage—for although there was room enough for him inside, his rank was not sufficient for him to deserve a place there. The bell ringing dilemma had been solved by Charlotte's offering to supervise the village boys—a task she felt in no way competent to fulfil. Nonetheless, she was buoyed by the knowledge that Lady Catherine would not be present to hear any mistakes made. The pleasant afternoon Charlotte had anticipated with Lizzy after her father's departure thus evaporated.

Charlotte and Mariah departed hurriedly for the church in time to supervise the bell being struck for one, after which they intended to occupy themselves rearranging things in the church between the half-hourly bells. As it had come over dark and cloudy, Lizzy abandoned her idea of an afternoon walk in favour of letter writing. This she pursued until three while it sprinkled on and off, the half-hourly church bells marking Charlotte's success in supervision. But upon the sound of the last bell falling away in the mute of the damp, Elizabeth eventually abandoned her letters, and driven by an increasing sense of restlessness, decided to take a walk after all.

Drawing an oilskin cloak Charlotte kept in the downstairs closet around her, Lizzy set off for the lake, thinking she might take refuge in the hut should the rain turn into a downpour.

Arriving at the plank, Elizabeth was pleasantly surprised to recognise the colonel's voice before she stepped onto the pier and fully expected to find him in conversation with the gamekeeper. But upon emerging from the reeds, Lizzy encountered Colonel Fitzwilliam with Miss de Bourgh on his arm, shielding her from the elements with the large oilskin umbrella Lizzy had last seen in church.

"Ah! Miss Elizabeth! We meet again and you could not have come at a better time! Here I am, trying to convince my cousin to let me paddle her round the lake and she will not oblige me because she does not wish to leave poor Darcy alone. You see, Anne? You can be easy. Miss Elizabeth and Darcy are old acquaintances from Hertfordshire!"

Miss de Bourgh smiled timidly at Elizabeth. "You do not mind Miss Elizabeth? It seems a little impolite to abandon you after you have just arrived."

"Nonsense!" said the colonel. "Let us go out while we may, while the weather holds off!"

Elizabeth replied in the only polite way she could, encouraging Miss de Bourgh to take advantage of the break in the rain. She took the umbrella from the colonel while he untied the boat and continued to hold it over Miss de Bourgh so that she might step aboard unencumbered.

Satisfied with his preparations, Richard held out his hand to assist his cousin. But when Miss de Bourgh gingerly placed her kid boot on the seat instead of stepping into the bottom of the boat, she almost lost her balance when the boat tipped slightly. When Anne fell against her cousin, Elizabeth thought they might both end up in the water, but the colonel recovered admirably to help Miss de Bourgh settle in the stern. As Elizabeth handed the umbrella to Anne, Richard pushed off with one oar, tipping his hat to Lizzy and looking mighty pleased with himself. The boat pulled away swiftly from the pier as he made several strong strokes with the oars.

During all this time, Mr Darcy made no appearance and had it not been for the colonel's comment, Elizabeth might have been unaware of his presence. But after the boat drew away, the slightly ajar door of the hut opened further and Mr Darcy filled the space, with his top hat pulled down low over his coloured glasses.

Having had no further time to speak privately with his cousin since their pre-dawn interview, Darcy had failed to explain his last encounter with Miss Elizabeth at Netherfield, which had essentially amounted to her kidnap. The pair thus faced each other with some awkwardness. Their first private meeting since this event was one of embarrassment for Darcy and of trepidation for Elizabeth.

"Good afternoon, Miss Elizabeth," Darcy said softly. "You must excuse me for hiding away in the hut, but I have another of my sick headaches."

"I beg your pardon, I had no wish to intrude upon your party and only stayed because Colonel Fitzwilliam insisted upon it. I will go off now and leave you in peace."

"Please don't go. I would very much like some company and if you will permit me to retreat into the hut, the pain will lessen immediately," said Darcy, doing his best to take advantage of the opportunity Richard had made available to advance his interests with Miss Elizabeth. Darcy had been wracking his brain on how he might contrive to politely call at the parsonage one evening, but was still not sure he was doing the right thing in pursuing Miss Elizabeth's hand.

Elizabeth hardly felt comfortable staying given their history, but something in his voice seemed to implore her. She decided there could be no impropriety if she sat just outside the door when the other members of the Rosings party were nearby. Noticing the corner of a small tuffet had been used to prop the door open, she pulled this outside the hut to sit down upon it, employing a nearby fishing rod in its place to wedge the door ajar.

Mr Darcy rearranged a burlap bag thrown over the top of the door to block more of the light so that the room was once more cast into gloom. Retreating to sit in the furthest armchair from the door, he was pleased by the prospect of Elizabeth, framed by the only light that penetrated into the interior. To any other, she hardly looked a picture with the shapeless oilskin cloak draped around her, but Darcy saw only her pretty face.

"That is better," he remarked. "Please feel free to talk on whatever topic you wish, my headache is quite in abeyance."

Lizzy felt a little like Scheherazade, summoned to entertain the sultan. Since he had arrived at Rosings, Mr Darcy had held himself aloof, though the various glances he had thrown at her during their two meetings had shown him not to be indifferent to her presence. Her feelings about Mr Darcy were still at war—romantic feelings driven by her natural attraction to him were only kept in abeyance by more sober consideration that the inclination he had shown for her was not a proper one. Lizzy had no wish for another regrettable lapse such as had occurred at the Netherfield ball and if his lofty distance was the price she had to pay for her safety, it was worth it.

Determined now to be civil, Lizzy quashed her thoughts of that regrettable incident at the ball. Drawing on the few conversations they had shared, Lizzy tried to think of an innocuous topic to start off with. Her impertinent curiosity got the better of her. "I realised last Sunday at the service that it was the first time I had seen you in the daylight. Are you frequently troubled by the light?" she enquired.

"Yes, I have developed a sensitivity to it. It gives me headaches."

"That is unfortunate. I suppose it might be bearable in London, which seems to never sleep, but it must be quite a handicap* in the country, especially when you are managing estates."

Darcy thought Miss Elizabeth had summarised his former thoughts succinctly. He had been loath to return to Pemberley where he was sure that his housekeeper Mrs Reynolds would immediately detect there was something perverse about him—she had known him from his boyhood. The 'never sleeping city' had seemed the ideal setting to hide his vampirism, but after the incident of the anomalous vampire, he now saw its shortcomings—other creatures such as himself could hide just as easily. At Pemberley, he was master of his own domain. With his increased senses, Darcy doubted anything could be hidden from him there.

"It is regrettable," he replied. "But with the help of a steward, not insurmountable. It proved workable to go out in the evenings to view the estate at Netherfield, and I have been doing the same here. I admit it will require some changes at Pemberley."

"You have not then returned to Derbyshire since your journey to the Continent?" Elizabeth asked in surprise, having never been absent from Longbourn for more than a few weeks.

"No, my health and my sister's have precluded it. But it was my intention to make the journey once I leave Kent." Darcy silently acknowledged that he would first need to return to Hertfordshire to speak with Mr Bennet. He was suddenly glad that he had sent those tokens via Elizabeth's father. At the time Darcy had deemed the gesture in deference to her father, whom he had discovered to be a person worth cultivating at the Netherfield ball. Having only just made his acquaintance, Darcy had not wanted to slight Mr Bennet by his sudden removal from the district, necessitated by his indiscretion with his daughter. In retrospect, he realised the small gifts had clearly shown his preference for Elizabeth and would make his approach to Mr Bennet easier.

"You are lucky to have such a trustworthy agent," remarked Elizabeth.

Darcy stared at her uncomprehendingly for a moment, having lost the thread of their conversation in his rumination. "Indeed, I know it."

"Will your sister be accompanying you?"

"Yes. She has recovered and prefers Pemberley to London. I expect you also prefer the country?"

Elizabeth thought this a strange question since she'd had little opportunity to view the delights of the city as the Ton knew them and wondered if Mr Darcy was being sarcastic. She had visited the city rarely and the theatre but once, where she sat in the pit with her aunt and uncle and viewed the bejewelled ladies and gentlemen in the boxes with some awe and a little envy. She did not doubt that Mr Darcy sat in those boxes and supposed that the Bingleys sat there too. No wonder Caroline had been so disdainful of them. At a country assembly, they might have seemed equals but in London the gulf would be all too apparent.

"Yes, I prefer the country," she affirmed.

A gap in the conversation yawned. Lizzy, never usually short of a word, felt doubly uncomfortable in Mr Darcy's presence.

"You are very close to you sister then?" she blurted before thinking the question was perhaps too personal.

Darcy, on the contrary, was pleased to be able to explain more of his circumstances to her. "Yes and no. Since our parents died, we have chiefly had each other but there is more than a ten year age gap, which sometimes seems a chasm."

"Ten years?" said Elizabeth, remembering Lieutenant Wickham's tale of his elopement. In her mind, Miss Darcy changed rapidly from a Charlotte Lucas-like 'mature lady' to positively 'on the shelf'. But just as quickly, Lizzy realised the underlying assumption in her imaginings. She frowned. "Is your sister older or younger than you?"

"Younger," replied Darcy, thinking that Elizabeth would help bridge the gap. "My parents thought not to have any more children because of the difficulties of my birth, but then Georgie came along belatedly. My mother always wanted a daughter and I believe she died happy knowing she had succeeded."

Elizabeth flushed, realising that rather than eloping with an aged contemporary, Lieutenant Wickham must have attempted to abscond with a schoolroom miss. Her opinion of him dropped even lower than it had dipped after the incident with Miss King. Mortified by her preference for Wickham and wondering how she could ever have been so gullible to believe the words of a charming stranger, Lizzy retreated into herself, leaving Darcy wondering what next to say. A silence threatened to stretch between them.

"Have you ever trained at singlestick?" essayed Darcy, then blushed. His words sounded gauche to his own ears.

"Good Lord, no! Is that not like sword fighting?"

"It is a type of sword fighting, a way of training to thrust and parry without using a blade."

"Heavens, no! Why do you ask?"

"I have twice seen you pick up something in the manner of a quarterstaff."

Lizzy was at a loss to know when that could have been, perhaps Mr Darcy had glimpsed her when she was playing billiards with the Bingley sisters?

"Well, when I was small...," _at least three years ago_ , she thought, "I might have played the occasional game of Friar Tuck and Little John with Charlotte's brothers..."

"Friar Tuck and Little John?" repeated Darcy. "How does one play that?"

"It chiefly involves hitting each other with sticks," she replied.

Inexplicably Darcy burst out laughing, which made Elizabeth immediately regret her indiscretion. Her mother had frequently scolded her for her hoydenish ways.

It was on the tip of Darcy's tongue to ask her what had happened to Robin Hood when Miss Elizabeth gave a start and jumped up from her stool, kicking the tuffet inside the hut with one of her boots and slamming the door. Finding himself suddenly alone in the dark with Elizabeth was almost overwhelming. When Darcy's fangs instantly deployed, he clutched the leather armrests of his chair. The sound of a squall lashing the door and roof of the hut hid his gasp.

"Oh! The colonel and Miss de Bourgh!" Lizzy exclaimed, blithely unaware in her extremity that she had shut herself in a dark room with a rake, and completely unaware of her real danger.

Darcy felt one of his fingernails pierce the leather of his chair but simultaneously knew he had mastered the situation. He watched Lizzy lift the burlap bag the colonel had nailed to the window to peep through its dirty pane, now lashed by the rain. He was very aware of his itching fangs that he had now retracted, as well as the dull throb in his groin. He felt slightly delirious.

"It is impossible to see anything!" she yelled above the noise of the storm. "How quickly and silently it burst upon us! I saw it coming across the water!"

"Elizabeth...," said Darcy softly.

But whatever he had intended to say, Elizabeth never knew, for a clatter and a bump shook the hut, closely followed by a high shriek and a burst of hearty laughing.

Elizabeth opened the door of the hut as the rain continued to dash down to reveal the colonel and Miss de Bourgh had returned hastily from their jaunt. She hurried on to the pier to stretch her hand out to Miss de Bourgh. The colonel, having shipped the oars, was vainly trying to shield his cousin from the weather with the umbrella he had taken from her. But before Lizzy could assist Anne to stand, Mr Darcy emerged from the hut, jumped lightly into the boat, scooped up his cousin, and disappeared back into the hut.

It all happened in a flash and Elizabeth could only assume that the cold rain had frozen her own limbs and made her stupid.

"Come on, Miss Elizabeth!" said the colonel, jumping from the boat with the umbrella to touch his fingers lightly to her back and pushing her ahead of him into the hut.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*civvies—civilian clothes.

*While the cat's away—the mice do play, idiom. German equivalent, when the cat's away the mice dance on the table. Foreign language speakers, if your country has an interesting variant, let me know, I collect idioms.

*at a pinch—when necessary

*handicap—at the time, this did not refer to a disability but something that put one at a disadvantage. The usage is retained in handicapped horse races in Australia where weights in the saddles of horses are adjusted to disadvantage past winners.


	27. I'll take the red

**Could I please remind reviewers to leave constructive criticism. Leaving non-specific critical comments is nothing more than trolling, even if it is prefaced with faint praise. Please be more supportive of authors.**

 **Thank you again to _alix33_ and _Laura SaintYves_ for finding more errors. Your efforts are appreciated.**

 **Suggestions for title of Chapter 26 were:**

 **"Kissing Cousins" or "Something's Got to Give" by _Deanna27_**

 **"Tête-à-tête" by _Lee3619_ ,**

 **"Getting to Know You," or "Clothes Make the Man" by _Sacredwoman2K_ ,**

 **"Troubled by the Light" by _Windchimed_ ,**

 **"Those Darn Fangs" by _Dizzy Lizzy.60,_**

 **"Of fish and fangs", "Come hell or high water" or "Mischief Managed" by _austen16_ ,**

 **"Looks Like We're In for Nasty Weather" (CCR) or**

 **"It's a Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall" (Dylan) by _amamama_ ,**

 **"Itching sensations" or "In the darkness of a hut" (perhaps for the next one) or "Raining fishes and frogs" by _Laura Saintyves,_**

 **"Games of Robin Hood" by _guest_ ,**

 **"Fangs for the Memory" (memories?), "Fighting Tooth and Nail", "Flash in the Dark" by _CG4me_ ,**

 **Wow, this was a difficult one. "Mischief managed" by _austen16_ made me laugh. I had a few thoughts myself inspired by some of your entries:**

 **"Temptations", "Spring is in the air", "Elementary", "Of fish and frogs" and "Raiment and rain".**

 **I decided to go with "Elementary", which was inspired by your entries, _amamama_.**

* * *

 **Chapter 27 I'll take the red**

Upon retreating to the hut, the next few minutes were spent in assessing how the paddlers had fared in the rain. More concern was expressed for Miss de Bourgh than for the colonel, despite the fact that the front of his breeches and his coat were quite soaked, whereas only the bottom of Anne's gown was wet thanks to the umbrella and her pelisse. But the adventurers laughed off their dousing. Elizabeth knelt down to help Anne wring out her hem.

As quickly as the squall came, it went. Sunlight momentarily peeked under the door and the colonel was all for venturing outside again. The church bells struck three, causing Darcy to frown and reach for his watch, but before he could withdraw it, a belated fourth bell amended the time.

"I should get back," declared Elizabeth, biting down on a chuckle. _Poor Charlotte!_ She resisted explaining the reason for the poor timekeeping and apologise for it, thinking it might be construed by the Rosings party as criticism of Lady Catherine.

"We also should be returning," agreed Darcy. And when the colonel showed an inclination to protest: "Aunt will not be happy if she returns to an empty house." Then, addressing Elizabeth: "Could we give you a lift, Miss Elizabeth?" he offered. "My carriage should be waiting for us in the road."

Elizabeth disclaimed the necessity for it, pointing out her oilskin should it come on to rain again. She stepped out of the hut, eager to depart from what she viewed as her intrusion upon the party. She would have immediately taken her leave from the others had not Anne promptly followed her—Miss de Bourgh was anxious to return to the house before her mother could do so.

Lizzy led the way and with her brisk walk would have drawn ahead of the others, but upon crossing the plank, she hesitated lest Miss de Bourgh need assistance. Instead, the colonel picked his cousin up and forded the plank intrepidly, though pretending to sway halfway for dramatic effect, which caused Miss de Bourgh to shriek and clutch his shoulder. Mr Darcy followed under the umbrella, though it was not even sprinkling.

Upon reaching the open ground they found Darcy's carriage waiting in all its sleek blackness. With a wave of her hand, Elizabeth departed along the footpath to the parsonage, leaving the Hunsford party to make their short journey back to the manor house alone.

The cousins had, as estimated earlier by Darcy and Anne, anticipated Lady Catherine's return. Anne hurried inside so that her maid might divest her of her damp clothes before she was found to have jeopardised her fragile health by getting wet at all. Fortunately Anne's maid cannily appreciated her position in the household, balancing an appropriate obsequiousness to Lady Catherine with a fierce but silent loyalty to her mistress. She would not blab. Darcy and the colonel retired to the library where they knew a fire would be burning. The colonel divested himself of the wettest of his gear and sat down in his smalls to drink brandy with Darcy near the hearth, draping his breeches and coat over a chair.

"You'll catch your death," said Darcy, building up the fire.

"Nonsense," said Richard, downing his first tot* in one gulp. "This will warm me up. So, how did it go with Miss Elizabeth? You cannot have asked for a better opportunity to forward your interests—all alone in a romantic setting..."

"I would not count a fishing hut as a romantic setting," retorted Darcy, instantly on the defensive.

"I seemed to be doing pretty well with it," countered the colonel, holding his glass out while Darcy refilled it.

Darcy ignored his cousin's boast. "I am hesitant to pursue my inclinations and I am surprised you are so sanguine about my condition."

"Sanguine*... what an interesting choice of words," mused the colonel. "Do not think that I arrived at this happy state of mind easily. I did not get a chance to tell you, but after our tête-à-tête this morning, I happened to meet Miss Elizabeth while I was fishing. How fortuitous she turned up again in time to join our expedition briefly!

"After your description of her," continued Richard, "I half-expected a blue stocking, but nothing of the kind! Do you know that before I met her, my mind had wandered to some dark places. It was almost as if she convinced me of the unnecessary pessimism of my thoughts, just by teasing me about my uniform. Regardless of your current state, I saw immediately she is just what you need, Darcy—someone to lighten you up and depress your pretensions!"

Darcy stiffened. "I do not pretend to anything! Are you accusing me of behaving in an odiously condescending way like our aunt?"

"See, you are doing it again! No, of course you are not as bad as aunt, but you do take yourself so seriously! That is the Darcy in you. You need the Fitzwilliam to come out more. I know it is in there! Enjoy life! And do not take offence now at my perceived criticism; I am instead complimenting you on your admirable judgement in fixing on the very woman you need."

"I can see that I might have been too serious in the past. Indeed, I know some have called me arrogant behind my back. Being the sole heir to an estate like Pemberley can in some ways be a burden. But my whole world view has been altered by my affliction. I now know what it is to wrestle with an addiction like drink or gambling and have more sympathy in general for the rest of humankind. Every day is a struggle."

"Indeed, now you better understand the rest of us."

"But as to Elizabeth, do you not think that it is wrong for a young and innocent lady—not much more than a girl—to be burdened with one such as I? It does not seem right."

"Nonsense! What woman can be truly aware of what she is taking on when she marries an older man who is set in his ways? For better or worse, eh? Is that not why we marry such young sprigs, so that they may adapt themselves to our foibles? You have much to offer—money, position. She is of good birth—a squire's daughter—but lacks those things. It is a good match for her."

"Richard, I do not think you truly appreciate the situation, the danger to her. This is not just about the fact that I might never walk in the sun with her. I could, in a moment of a madness, kill her."

"And I say, how does that differ from any contract between a man and a woman? Ask Henry the Eighth's wives!"

"No!" retorted Darcy, appalled at this line of reasoning. "Did he slink out in the night to draw blood from the populace?"

"Maybe not literally," agreed the colonel. "But tell me this: you take a tithe of your dependants' crops now, why not their blood? If you do not injure them, where is the harm in it?"

"I am a monster, a creature of the night."

"I do not see a monster before me. I see a man who is very recognisably my cousin, whom I know well. You are now flawed like the rest of us, but you are still you. Deal with it!"

Darcy paced and would have had more to say on the subject but the colonel was spared what he could see was fast turning into a worse argument than their earlier contretemps. The steady tempo of hoofbeats, the crunch of carriage wheels on the drive announced Lady Catherine had returned.

"You had better get back to your chamber and change your clothes," said Darcy wearily.

The colonel could only agree. Downing the rest of his second glass, he scooped up his clothes and ventured nonchalantly into the hall in his smalls, disappearing into his chamber as his aunt mounted the stairs.

* * *

Regardless of his cousin's cheery acceptance of his fate, Darcy was still wracked by doubts. What his cousin had pointed out was true: despite his affliction, Darcy could give Elizabeth wealth and position. If Richard thought on the whole that the benefits of the marriage outweighed Darcy's altered condition, then it must be so. How they might manage their marriage Darcy knew not, but whether they lived together or apart, Elizabeth could still bear his children as the count's mistresses had done. As the only son, Darcy would be fulfilling his debt to his family and heritage. It was a powerful incentive.

But throughout the next sennight, as he set matters on the Rosings estate to rights, Darcy's mind wavered as he questioned every assumption—things he had held firm in his mind for years. If he could only safely live apart from Elizabeth, was there any point in his marrying for love at all? Perhaps he would be better off allowing his aunt Matlock to arrange a marriage with a lady of the Ton who would understand such matters? Perhaps the Ton's equivalent of an unpalatable like Caroline Bingley who would be safe from him? He shuddered with repugnance.

Into Darcy's dreams, both sleeping and wakeful, rose alternate visions of his happy life together with Elizabeth. Her, smiling as she passed the butter in a dimly lit breakfast room at Pemberley. Him, riding ventre à terre* to a dark tower where she awaited him. Darcy was quick to appreciate all these happy musings shared a common feature: Elizabeth was cognisant of his nature and accepted it.

Darcy knew then he could not withhold his terrible secret from his wife. He was not a naturally secretive person, despite his seeming aloofness, which sprang more from shyness than arrogance. Darcy recalled the great relief he had felt when Finn had discovered his secret. He remembered feeling no longer alone in the world—for what real comfort could correspondence with the count give? The balm of unburdening himself to his cousin, who had been his friend and ally since childhood, had also been great. No, Darcy could not keep such a terrible secret from Elizabeth, it would forever be a bar to their love. Darcy knew he would grow weary of the dishonesty of concealment.

The question then was just how and when Darcy should reveal the truth to Elizabeth. Darcy did not think he could withhold the secret from Elizabeth for very long, even if they did live apart. She was bright and inquisitive. What might her indignation be upon finding she had married a fiend? No, the only proper thing would be to tell her before they married. He could not be easy with anything less.

After reaching this waypoint not two days after meeting Elizabeth again at the hut, Darcy's real difficulties set in when he tried to think of just how and when he should approach Elizabeth, and ultimately, how much he should at first reveal. Imaginary conversations had him jumping up from behind his desk, discarding his pen* to pace up and down on the carpet, mouthing words and gesticulating. Occasionally Darcy said things out loud and then jumped when the chambermaid knocked before entering to perform her duties, such was his immersion in his problem.

Meanwhile, the colonel was getting impatient. He walked out before breakfast every morning and twice met Elizabeth Bennet during her rambles. He joined her for a while both times and began subtly extolling Darcy's virtues to her, chiefly by speaking of Pemberley—its large tenant roll, the rugged beauty of Derbyshire and the impressive manor house.

After his initial visit to Anne's bedchamber, which he had intended to remain secret, Richard did not visit his cousin there again, mindful that Darcy had been very correct in admonishing him for spending the night with her, even though their tryst had been sweet and innocent. But Richard still stole moments with Anne alone in rooms and corridors. His cousin became increasingly bold, caressing him through his clothes, telling him how much she longed for his touch. It was beginning to have an effect on his self-control. After one chance moment in the corridor, Richard had succumbed so powerfully to Anne's teasing that he had pulled her behind the hangings of a window embrasure and kissed her properly, thrusting his tongue inside her mouth. They had almost been sprung by his Aunt Catherine coming up the stairs and had to hide, clutching each other while Richard fought the urge to burst out laughing. But he had restrained himself for Anne's sake. Afterwards he felt Anne shaking and kissed the tip of her nose reassuringly. She just said 'more'.

That incident had given the matter more urgency. Richard realised that he and Anne were playing a dangerous game that could result in Anne getting hurt. He began to fear that Darcy would never come to the point; that he would have to return to Wellington's army of occupation in France with nothing settled. Always bold in battle, the colonel decided some coercion of his cousin Darcy would be necessary. When Anne joined them in the library one afternoon, Richard took the opportunity to sit her on his knee and caress her shamelessly. Anne lapped it up. Casting an occasional glance at Darcy behind his desk, Richard could see his cousin was decidedly uncomfortable. Finally Anne was forced to take herself off to dress for dinner.

"Do you think it is wise to court her like that when you are not engaged?" asked Darcy primly.

"We should instead wait until doomsday* to touch each other?" suggested the colonel. "She keeps inviting me to her chamber. I must admit my self-control is slipping."

Knowing himself to be the bar to their love, Darcy returned to his ledgers without further comment, but the colonel could see he had made headway.

Anne declined to play at cards that night, citing a headache and retiring early with a secret smile at Richard. The cousins sat down to quadrille with their aunt, with Mrs Jenkinson making up the table. After the first hand, which was of course won by Lady Catherine who called diamonds as trumps, Richard yawned and declared he too could benefit from retiring. Darcy was left to piquet with his aunt while Mrs Jenkinson looked on.

Darcy had never much like playing cards, considering it rather a waste of his time. But his vampirism had robbed him of even the mild relaxation he had formerly derived from the games. He was now too aware of other players' moods for him to lose any but games of luck without great effort. So after Darcy won five of the six deals that night, his aunt declared him no fun to play with and retired also, which had been Darcy's object in playing so aggressively. Finally he was free to escape into the night.

Darcy followed his usual routine, visiting first the tenants' cottages before arriving at the parsonage to stare wistfully up at Elizabeth's window where the tabby stood sentinel. From protracted negotiation, it had been determined that he was permitted to stand near the garden beds but not venture onto the lawn. If Darcy stepped on the short grass the cat would begin hissing.

From determined practice, Darcy had become quite effective at mesmerism, but it never seem to work on Elizabeth. Nonetheless, he tried it once more before resorting to stepping on the lawn and bringing her to the window in that way. The cat hissed and Elizabeth appeared with her long plait on her shoulder—a sight that never ceased to make him sigh with contentment. Having already sated his thirst, Darcy's eyes drank their fill for the evening before he turned to go. Frequently the cat chased after him, triumphant in her success of warding off the intruder and probably glad to have a run through the long grass pretending she was a tiger. He liked to reward her gallantry with this denouement. The tabby generally stopped following him somewhere near the lake whereupon he doubled back to the village before returning to the manor house before dawn. Finally, sensing the cat was no longer following him that night, Darcy headed for the village.

But when Darcy silently made his way up the stairs of the manor house near dawn, he met his cousin in the corridor leaving Anne's room. In fact the colonel had been sitting in a window seat that looked over the rear lawn, waiting for his cousin to appear—for by careful observation he had discovered the timetable of Darcy's nocturnal movements. Although he had visited Anne's chamber earlier, Richard had kissed her goodnight around midnight and got several hours sleep himself before taking up the watch for his cousin. Having jumped up from the window seat in anticipation of Darcy's appearance, Richard performed his piece of theatre artfully, emerging from Anne's chamber en deshabille* and softly closing her door before accompanying Darcy down the hall to the door of his cousin's room.

"She let me suckle her breasts," Richard said soulfully, before bidding his cousin goodnight.

Richard returned to his room satisfied. He could tell Darcy had been agitated. Pulling on his old uniform, he watched the sun rise and went fishing.

Thus began Richard's game to goad Darcy to action. Richard felt a little guilty, but not much. After all, in the long run, he was doing his cousin a favour.

On Sunday after the church service, Darcy discovered his cousins playing footsie* under the table. He was even more discomposed when Anne's silk slippered foot peeped from beneath the tablecloth to caress Richard's breeches. In his consternation, Darcy spilt a drop of coffee on his cravat. He moved his chair further into the table to block his aunt Catherine's view and pulled his dark glasses down to surreptitiously glare at both his cousins.

On Monday morning, Richard once more staged an impeccably timed exit from Anne's rooms in the wee hours, bidding his cousin a cheerful good morning while licking and sucking on his fingers.

All this activity did not entirely pass Lady Catherine by, despite it being hid from her. She noticed the colonel was being unusually attentive to Anne and was perturbed by it. Since the arrival of her nephews, their aunt de Bourgh had not felt the need to summon the inhabitants of the parsonage to dinner, since she had enough players for cards. But when it occurred to her at breakfast that Miss Bennet might prove a useful distraction for Richard, Lady Catherine resolved to make another invitation for that evening when Mr Collins made his daily visit.

Down at the parsonage, Elizabeth was having a bad day. She had spent a rather boring week. She was missing Jane, her still room, and beginning to wish herself far from her cousin, regardless of Charlotte's efforts to quell her annoying husband's quirks. Lizzy's increasing sense of frustration had been mitigated only by her conversations with the colonel, whom she had met twice during her morning rambles. During these tête-à-tête, Lizzy had learnt more of Mr Darcy's estate, Pemberley—which she playfully imagined to be something like the Castle of Wolfenbach*, transported to the wilds of Derbyshire. _No doubt Caroline Bingley would enjoy lording it over his many tenants, especially when its location was ever so convenient to her relatives in Yorkshire!_ Unfortunately, the colonel's information only confirmed Lizzy in her opinion that too much wealth bred bad habits: all that money, which should have made Mr Darcy a philanthropist, had turned him into a rake. Still, she could not help constantly thinking about him.

The morning post had brought another despondent letter from Jane, which seemed to depress Lizzy's spirits more than usual. But her unusually low state was explained somewhat when her period came on toward evening, a day early and very heavy. Lizzy felt as much like going to Rosings to be insulted and ignored by Lady Catherine as she felt like flying to the moon*. Charlotte was at first greatly perturbed when Lizzy expressed her wish to stay at the parsonage but sympathetic when her friend explained, offering to make Lizzy a tisane. Thus the Collins and Mariah set off for the manor house alone, with Mr Collins bemoaning the fact that Lady Catherine would not be happy.

When the Rosings party became aware that Miss Elizabeth had absented herself from dinner, Lady Catherine made no secret of her annoyance, but Darcy and Richard immediately exchanged glances, realising a golden opportunity for Darcy to talk to Miss Elizabeth alone had finally arrived. Halfway through the soup course, Darcy clutched his temple dramatically and excused himself from the table. This annoyed Lady Catherine even more, for her campaign of parting Anne and Richard for the evening had been entirely routed.

Upon reaching his chambers, Darcy did not bother to change into his black garb but locked the door, instructing Finn to make his excuses and open it to no one. He then promptly climbed out of the window. Not even bothering to climb down the ivy Sir Lewis had incongruously grown on the new structure to lend it antiquity, Darcy jumped straight to the ground. But instead of sprinting off towards the tenants' cottages as he usually did, Darcy wended his way to the parsonage in a more thoughtful manner, rehearsing his various tangled speeches in his mind.

Elizabeth, after laying dutifully on the bed on Charlotte's instruction, had got up immediately upon the Collins' departure. Despite Charlotte's tisane, she had cramps and needed to move about. Stepping out onto the landing, Lizzy felt the cool of the evening already invading the empty parsonage and returned briefly to her room to pull on a pair of undersleeves*. Jane had cleverly fashioned them in a marmaluke* style so that the join with the transparent puff sleeves of her gown was less obvious. Downstairs, Lizzy found the fire still alive in the parlour and built it up.

After pacing back and forward a bit, Lizzy felt more comfortable and sat down beside the hearth, picking up the book Charlotte had hidden under her sewing basket. It was another of Miss de Bourgh's: _The Italian_ —the last book Mrs Radcliffe had penned before she had stopped publishing. Lizzy knew it well, for she and Jane had read it to each other at least three times. It was a favourite from the circulating library. In it, the hero, the marchesa's son Vivaldi, falls in love with the eligible but sadly impecunious Ellen but is impeded by his family's opposition to the match.

Lizzy settled in the chair next to the fire and began to read.

 _It was in the church of San Lorenzo at Naples, in the year 1758, that Vincentio di Vivaldi first saw Ellena Rosalba. The sweetness and fine expression of her voice attracted his attention to her figure, which had a distinguished air of delicacy and grace..._

Lizzy had just got to the part where Vincentio stole away from the marchesa's soirée to secretly visit Ellena's villa.

 _The moment he could depart unobserved, he quitted the assembly, and, muffling himself in his cloak, hastened to the villa Altieri, which lay at a short distance to the west of the city. He reached it unobserved, and, breathless with impatience, traversed the boundary of the garden; where, free from ceremonial restraint, and near the object of his affection, he experienced for the few first moments a joy as exquisite as her presence could have inspired._

Such was her enjoyment in the beautiful prose, Elizabeth failed at first to recognise the door bell until it had been rung again with some vigour. Being not sure if Charlotte's maid had yet retired to her mother's abode in the village, Lizzy got up to answer the door herself, her mind quickly on the alert that something might be amiss—for the only visitor she could imagine at this hour was a courier, who might bring tidings of a relative near death. Of course her thoughts went first to her beloved father, although it was just as likely that one of Charlotte's parents was afflicted. Her heart beat more quickly in her breast.

Lizzy had not reached the door of the parlour when she heard the front door open and a man's low voice beg entry. Two steps more and the parlour door opened to admit Mr Darcy who bowed low to her.

Elizabeth was astonished, unsure what to make of his visit. Could something terrible have happened at the manor house? Or had he arrived to demand her presence on Lady Catherine's behalf?

Halfway though his bow, Darcy paused and started back, his hand clutching into a fist. But he seemed to soon regain command of himself and quickly moved away from Elizabeth to stand near the mantel. The clock struck nine.

Elizabeth was at a loss to understand his erratic movements. "Mr Darcy!" she prompted. "Is there a problem at the manor house?"

"No, Miss Elizabeth. I need to talk with you on a matter of some importance."

Lizzy's mind veered from one disaster to the next. Despite Mr Darcy's aloofness at Rosings, she had not forgotten his abduction of her at Netherfield and feared he intended to importune her once more. She turned in mute appeal to the maid who had lingered in the doorway after admitting him.

The girl had been waiting for just such an opportunity. "I beg your pardon, miss, but I'm off home then. Tell the mistress the porridge is on the hearth as she requested."

Before Lizzy could think of some other task to give the servant to retain her presence at the parsonage for the sake of propriety, she was off. The door closed behind her. Elizabeth could have screamed with vexation at the girl's ignorance of proper form.

"Mr Darcy," said Elizabeth, a little tersely, "if this is to be a repeat of that unfortunate incident at the Netherfield ball, I ask you to take yourself off now. As a gentleman's daughter, I have no interest in a dalliance with you."

Darcy who had been preoccupied with calming his predatory instincts on encountering Lizzy alone in her current state, quickly rearranged his thoughts.

"Dalliance? No, madam, you have me wrong!" said Darcy, biting his knuckles and pacing a little while he marshalled his thoughts.

Elizabeth watched him askance.

Finally he stopped his agitated steps and forced his hand to his side. "Miss Elizabeth, from the first moment I met you, I was entranced by... something, I hardly know what, but a feeling that we were made for each other."

Alarmed by the extremely forward nature of his declaration, Elizabeth reacted defensively: "What a faradiddle!* You said I was not handsome enough to tempt you!"

Darcy paled, remembering too well his words to Bingley to deny them. There was nothing to do but defend his conduct. "What I said, I said privately to Bingley and only in the interest of your own safety. If my words came to your ears, I am sorry for it. It was never my intention to insult you."

"For my own safety!" declared Lizzy hotly. "Well that passes all bounds! I'm afraid you will have to explain that one to me! Your behaviour at the assembly was appalling! First, you arrive with your nose in the air, clearly indicating you think us all beneath you! You claim as a partner only ladies from your own party and then head off to the Red Lion early to steep yourself in drink! If that was not enough to sink your character, my sister overheard you say those words to Bingley. So if you are going to say you had another of your d—ed* headaches as an excuse, think better if it!"

Darcy was appalled, not so much that his lovebird had turned into a firebrand, but of her terrible misconstruction of the events of the assembly. "No!" he said faintly.

"Yes!" Elizabeth pursued. "Then at Netherfield, you initially acted like I had the plague! Slithering past me on the stairs and avoiding my company! But at some point, things changed. Did you discover that Meryton could not supply the needs you had previously met at Covent Garden*? Were you so desperate that you must trifle with ladies of gentle birth?"

Darcy was shocked at the erroneous view that Elizabeth had of his character and her very specific knowledge of what less assiduous gentlemen got up to in London. He could only suppose that Wickham had been maligning him. "Did George Wickham tell you this?"

Lizzy had the grace to blush. "Regardless, of what Lieutenant Wickham may or may not have said—and I am aware that he also is likely not of good character—do you deny that you go out carousing every night in your Byronic black garb?"

It was Darcy's turn to blush, remembering his encounter with Elizabeth that foggy morning at Netherfield, their meeting in the rain and finally his abduction of her from the ball. He could not entirely blame her for her misconstruction of his nocturnal wanderings, but was horrified nonetheless.

"I assure you that my expeditions are perfectly innocent..." he started, then stopped to amend his declaration rather lamely: "At least, there is nothing lascivious about them! They are purely to meet a need."

"Oh! A man would say that!" interjected Lizzy scornfully.

Darcy could see he was not explaining himself well. "I assure you, madam, that I go out in the interests of public safety."

"It needed only that!" said Elizabeth, rolling her eyes. "You operate only on the highest principles, as a public benefactor? You are ridiculous, sir!"

Darcy could see he was only digging himself deeper with every attempt to retrieve the situation. He was so frustrated he began to tug at his hair.

"No, Elizabeth!" he said, grasping her hand in a lightning movement and falling to his knees. "You do not understand! I admit there is something wrong with me, but it is not what you imagine! Please know that I led a perfectly blameless life until visiting the Continent. I have suffered from a terrible affliction for the last year or so of my life and have frequently considered putting a period to my existence.

"But you! You gave me hope! From the first moment I saw you I was attracted to you. I tried to keep away from you, but from the time we first talked of chemistry, I realised you were more than a passing attraction but a potential soul mate. How I wish I had met you before I ever stepped from English shores! I have wrestled with my need to be near you. You know I almost failed at Netherfield and that is why I left Hertfordshire. But things have begun to look brighter more recently—I made a useful discovery after I left you and now feel more in command of myself. I believe that if we are careful I can keep you safe. Have pity on me and do me the honour of consenting to be my wife."

Having her hand caught up so suddenly as Mr Darcy fell at her feet, Elizabeth was torn between alarm and more tender feelings. His nearness and humble pose elicited the warmth in her own heart towards him; the touch of his hand was having a disastrous effect on her knees, but these feelings were at war with her head. She was considerably surprised by his offer of marriage. She had not expected so much. But still her previous qualms kept her on an even keel, steady in her purpose.

"Mr Darcy, I am truly sorry if you have been feeling unwell lately," said Lizzy, unsure if he had been referring to some true malady or recently acquired bad habits of a licentious nature. "But I could not ally myself with a person who cannot be relied upon. I am used to a quiet life and could not bear to be the subject of gossip. I appreciate that you are very well-to-do, but it has only ever been my ambition to live a comfortable existence, not a grand one. I thank you for your formal offer, but I must refuse it."

Darcy was dumbstruck, overcome with mortification. Given his material assets and Elizabeth's own uncertain future, he had only been worried about the ethics of his application, not its acceptance. He had a weird experience, seeing himself kneeling at Elizabeth's feet from a distance, just as he had observed her cousin once do. Remembering his contempt for the parson, his thoughts of how unworthy the man was, Darcy rejected this vision with anger.

"No, Elizabeth, you do not understand! What has happened to me... I did not choose it. It has not come about through any moral failing of my own. Indeed, it has required the exercise of the utmost self-restraint. I tell you now, even though it may not change your mind, trusting in your discretion—for I can see that you also have the highest principles. When I was in Pest, I met a count—or rather, he sought me. He followed me around and then one night, without my permission, he changed me. He made me what I am now, Elizabeth—a vampire."

Elizabeth started back but Darcy's hand held her fast. Being a devotee of the gothic, she knew of the tales from Eastern Europe. Her father had loaned her a text when he discovered her taste for Mrs Radcliffe's stories, telling her that tales of wicked uncles and Machiavellian counts were for babies; that the Eastern Europeans knew how to create a truly spine-chilling story. But she also knew that the Empress Maria Theresa had sent her physician to investigate reports of vampires in her empire; that he had decreed all such stories to be false and founded on ignorance. Now Elizabeth suspected Mr Darcy of being mad.

"Sir, please let go of my hand. You know such things are untrue. Indeed, if you are unwell, let me offer you a tisane. I brew one with willow bark for headaches. I know Charlotte has the ingredients, let me brew one for you now." Indeed, Charlotte had informed Lizzy there was more of the tisane she had brewed earlier in a kettle in the kitchen, should she need it.

Darcy's reaction to Elizabeth's speech was swift. He could see that talking would pay no toll*. She was a rational being. Just like Richard, only the evidence of her own eyes would convince her. In a blink of an eyelash, Darcy bared his fangs at her as he had done to his cousin.

This unfortunately proved a grave mistake. He was so close to her, holding her hand. No sooner had his teeth emerged from his lips than his other hand shot out to push up the mameluke sleeve. Before Darcy knew what he was doing, his fangs sank into the vein on the inside of her elbow. The ecstasy that filled him in that moment was almost more than he could bear. With his right hand still clasping her hand in an iron grip, his left arm snaked round her waist. As he drank the sweet nectar, his head fell to rest on her belly and in thrall, he lost all sense of time.

Elizabeth, partly from shock, felt her knees give way. On a better day, she might have tried to fight Darcy off but the combination of her weakened state and his weight proved too much for her. She swooned. This proved to be her salvation. For as she dropped, Darcy's fangs were removed from her flesh. She fell senseless into his arms.

In that instant Darcy came to himself and looked on in horror at what he had done. He pressed his fingers to the vein to staunch the bleeding, looked desperately at the carriage clock on the mantel piece to determine how long he had drunk from her. It stood at five minutes past nine but he could only not recall what it had read when he walked through the door, though he had a vague memory of glancing at it vacantly. He was almost beside himself with remorse. Picking Elizabeth up, Darcy carried her to the chaise longue and laid her down there, checking her pulse.

Almost immediately Elizabeth revived to find Mr Darcy bending over her. His fangs had disappeared but there was a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth that assured her she had not been dreaming. She could not say a word; was incapable of speech. She just stared at him with wide eyes.

Darcy returned her stare, noticing for the first time how beautiful her eyes were in their variegation, far different to the common brown he had previously perceived them, with only the overlying sparkle to give them beauty. But in them was not the look of love he had hoped for, but of horror. He had just demonstrated to her that he was the ghoul that he had declared he was not.

"Forgive me," he said softly.

Jumping up, Darcy fled to the door. With one last anguished look over his shoulder, he was gone.

Outside, a figure withdrew from the parlour window into the shadows.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*tot—a small quantity, likely from 'a little child', 1725, Scottish

*sanguine—optimistic about a potentially bad situation from the Latin via medieval medicine of the four humours

*ventre à terre—'belly to the ground', lying along the horse like a jockey to go faster, clearly only done by the French :)

*pen—from the Latin penna, meaning feather.

doomsday—in Christian belief, the day if the last judgement.

*en deshabille—with his clothes in disorder

footsie—anachronistic 1940's term. I'm sure they played footsie in the regency, I'm just not sure what they called it. Perhaps it was not polite to call such licentious behaviour anything,

*flying to the moon—to do something impossible. In the same vein, 'ask for the moon' and 'promise (somebody) the moon'

*undersleeves—as the material for gowns was expensive, impecunious ladies like the Bennets extended their wardrobe by making accessories like chemisettes and undersleeves that turned a short-sleeved gown into a long-sleeved one.

*marmaluke—a style gathered at several places along the length of the arms to produce puffs.

*faradiddle—a lie or nonsense.

*d—ed—ladies are not permitted to swear

*Covent Garden—a shopping centre near Mayfair, site of inns, an open air market and a haunt of prostitutes.

*keep—a heavily fortified castle,

*Castle of Wolfenbach—a gothic romance by Eliza Parsons (1793)

*talking will pay no toll—is useless. Toll gate charges were very complicated in Regency England. Some people, such as clergymen n pursuance of their duties could even pass through the for free. Many tried to reduce their charges by haggling, at which point they might be told 'talking will pay no toll'.


	28. Fangs and claws

**To the guest who suggested that anything posted on a public forum is fair game for any time of criticism, I cannot agree. You are getting a story for free. Is it too much to ask reviewers to be polite? Just because you can post something nasty does not mean you should. A little restraint would go a long way in today's online world. It's up to you.**

 **Thanks to** ** _alix33_** **and** ** _Laura Saintyves_** **for corrections. Thanks for revising my understanding of ventre á terre. If the plural of tête-à-tête doesn't have an s in French, it does in English according to the Oxford. We bastardise everything don't we?**

 **A squall is any severe localised storm. I remember once getting caught out in one such on our farm which was in very flat country. Walking back to the house with my brother, I heard a noise behind me and turned to see a wall of rain advancing towards us rapidly. I yelled to my brother and we ran. We were only 100m from the house but the rain hit us before we reached it. In the last 20m we were soaked. The rain stopped a few minutes later. I also noticed in my time there that rain generally came from the west but two squalls I experienced came from the south.**

 **Suggestions for the title of Chapter 27 were:**

 **"Unexpected Attachment" by** ** _Clara84_** **,**

 **"The spy" by _Dizzy Lizzy.60,_**

 **"First blood" or "Just a taste" by** ** _austen16_** **,**

 **"Ecstasy and Agony!" by** ** _Deanna27_** **,**

 **"A biting proposal" or "Struggles" or "Bared heart and fangs" :D or "Irresistible" by _Laura Saintyves,_**

 **"Flawed like the Rest" by _Chica Des Los Ojas Cafe,_**

 **"bite me!" by _guest_ ,**

 **"Let the Games begin" by _beaty_**

 **I was really tempted to go with "Flawed like the Rest" by _Chica Des Los Ojas Cafe_ , which nicely captures both halves of the chapter. Ultimately I decided to use an earlier suggestion by _YepItsMe_ : "I'll take the red"**

* * *

 **Chapter 28**

After fleeing, Darcy's impetuous feet carried him to the fishing hut where he flung himself into his favourite leather wing chair in the inky blackness and began to rock himself back and forward. He was beside himself with remorse, having flung all his careful self-control in Hertfordshire—when he had been at his most dangerous—out the window*. At first, Darcy could not understand how he could have so recklessly and wickedly indulged himself. He had drunk two bottles of the 'port' that had been delivered that day before going down to dinner, but he had not visited the tenants' cottages before going to the parsonage. Clearly that had been a mistake.

Still, Darcy did not feel it was enough to explain his lamentable lapse. In his mind, he saw himself walking to the parsonage, rehearsing his speech. As soon as his memory took him through the door of the cottage, Darcy knew what it had been. He recalled his fist clenching and his retreat to the mantel—it had been her time of the month. Once he made this connection, another piece slipped into place—so it had also been at the Netherfield ball. Perhaps that had been enough to send him over the edge on both occasions. But wait, there had been yet another commonality—both times he had touched her. Clearly, the combination was lethal.

Darcy sank once more into self-flagellation, knowing now he could not trust himself to ever wed Elizabeth if he had not already changed her. If he had, there would be nothing to do but offer to marry her again. If she accepted him, it would only be for the very practical reason he had agreed to correspond with the count. She could never bear him any children. Moreover, their relationship would forever be burdened with the knowledge that he had coerced her into matrimony—likely earning her resentment and possibly her hatred. Darcy did not think Elizabeth could hate him any more than he hated himself right now.

* * *

Meanwhile back at the parsonage, Elizabeth was shaking in her shoes; trying to make sense of what had just occurred.

 _My God! There are vampires! And Mr Darcy is one!_

She pulled up her mameluke sleeve and stared at her wounds, two puncture marks an inch and a half apart. Shaking her head, Lizzy pulled the sleeve down again. She could still see the bloody marks through the thin muslin.

Lizzy had only just managed to get her racing heart under control when she thought she heard a sound outside. Up it went again— _boom_ _boom_ _boom_ in her ears. But she refused to be cowed. Grabbing the poker beside the hearth as her weapon, Lizzy approached the front door on unsteady legs, listening carefully. Could she hear mewling?

Opening the door cautiously, Lizzy spied the culprit on the doorstep—a tiny tortoiseshell kitten. Another glance around seemed to indicate the coast was clear*. Propping the poker against the wall, Lizzy bent down to pick up the kitten.

"Oh! Aren't you adorable! What are you doing out here?" she said, stroking the tiny ball of fluff and gaining considerable comfort from the process.

The thought that Mr Darcy had left a kitten as an apology was swiftly discarded. _The_ _night's_ _events_ _have_ _made_ _me_ _ridiculous_! Elizabeth chastised herself. Another sound made her look quickly around but it was only the shriek of a far off owl. Cuddling the kitten, Lizzy closed the door and brought it inside.

"What do I do with you? Are you cold?" she enquired, snuggling it to her breast. "Hungry?"

She headed for the kitchen. Finding a jug of milk, Lizzy poured some into a saucer and set the kitten beside it. Deprived of the comfort of her warm body, it immediately began mewling again and did not lap, trying to crawl feebly away from the saucer.

As she watched it, Elizabeth finally made the connection to Misty. Had not Charlotte said the cat had been big with kittens when Mr Collins dumped her far away? Charlotte had assumed Misty had abandoned her kittens to return to the parsonage; perhaps she had instead delivered them nearby? Could tabbies have tortoiseshell kittens? And if this kitten was Misty's, where was she?

Lizzy returned the kitten to the saucer and pushed its head down gently so that its jaw dipped in the milk. It still did not get the idea. She dipped her finger in the milk and tried that. It began sucking on it. It tickled terribly.

"Oh dear!" she said, picking it up again. "I think we will have to find your mother or something to use as a teat!"

Snuggling it against herself once more, Lizzy carried the kitten to the front door, intending to call the cat. If Misty had left the kitten on the doorstep, she might yet be nearby. Lizzy opened the door to find two more kittens on the threshold.

"Ah!" she said, immediately noticing that one was a tabby. "I believe you are a chip off the old block!*"

Elizabeth called, but still there was no sign of Misty. She brought the two new arrivals inside and went in search of a receptacle to place them in. After discounting the coal scuttle, she found the shopping basket in the kitchen. Lizzy was not sure that Charlotte would be happy if she commandeered it for the kittens, but decided she could buy her friend another with her pin money. Lizzy lined the basket with some rags and a dirty apron. In went the three kittens who immediately stopped mewling upon being reunited with their littermates. They snuggled into an amorphous ball of patches and stripes with only their triangular ears sticking out. One ear twitched.

Having established a haven, Lizzy checked the front doorstep again. No more kittens but still Misty would not come when she was called. Elizabeth then retreated to the parlour and set the basket down near the warmth of the fire. Upon seating herself on a footstool beside the basket, Lizzy realised she was still trembling. The fang marks in her arm itched. She really wanted to run upstairs to her bed and hide under the covers but she knew this was a perfectly ridiculous thing to do. Besides, who would look after the kittens?

Grasping her ankles and rocking back and forth, Elizabeth mulled over her memories of Mr Darcy ever since he had appeared at the Meryton assembly. She dusted them, turned them around and looked at them in a new light. Part way through she gave a huge shudder.

 _Vampires exist! He is one of them! His black clothes, his sneaking about at night—it all makes sense!_

Lizzy was still in the process of revisiting and re-evaluating every interaction when a tiny noise at the front door drew her attention. Thinking that perhaps Misty had returned, Elizabeth picked up the basket, hoping to reunite the kittens with their mother so they could be fed. Opening the door, she was just in time to see Misty disappear into the shrubbery. Elizabeth called to her. The cat re-emerged as if in acknowledgment but then turned and continued on her way. On the step was another tabby kitten.

Lizzy realised that Misty must still be transporting her kittens from their original den. There was nothing for it but to help her. Putting the basket down, Lizzy pulled her boots from the closet to don them. The oilskin cloak followed and she belatedly thought of a lantern, which she retrieved from the kitchen and lit with a splint at the hearth. Still shaken by recent events, Lizzy consider taking the poker but decided she would have her arms full with the basket and lamp. Finally, she tugged the dirty apron from beneath the ball of kittens and drew it over the basket to shield them from the chill of the night.

Leaving the house, Lizzy skirted the shrubbery, walking up and down the road beyond it, trying to determine which way Misty had gone. Two hundred yards from the front gate towards the lake, the upheld lantern shone upon a lump in the middle of the road, which fortuitously moved as it was illuminated. Lizzy ran towards it—another tortoiseshell kitten. Lizzy soon found herself on the path to the hut, encountering kittens at regular intervals. She found the ninth on the untrustworthy plank and was just in time to prevent it crawling off the edge. With so many, Lizzy thought she must surely have the whole litter, but she had seen no further sign of Misty and it seemed logical to go as far as the hut. But upon stepping onto the pier she was aghast to find Mr Darcy kneeling there.

Lizzy turned to hastily retreat before realising he had been holding two kittens. She turned back.

"Leave them alone!" she snarled as she stepped onto the pier.

He looked up at her, somewhat mystified. "Elizabeth!" he said feebly.

"Put the kittens down and move away!" Lizzy demanded. "They are Misty's!"

Darcy opened and closed his mouth several times as if he wanted to say something but couldn't quite find the words. Finally he managed, "I am not going to harm them! I just found them here. I do not drink animal blood!" he added indignantly.

"You do not?"

"No, it upsets my stomach."

He said this so plaintively that Elizabeth might ordinarily have been tempted to burst out laughing. The gravity of the situation precluded her doing so. "What are you doing with them then?"

"Nothing! I found them here just before you arrived. I suspect there may be more under the pier."

"More?" asked Lizzy incredulously. "There cannot be! I have already got nine!"

"Here!" said Darcy, placing his kittens on the pier and moving back towards the hut. "You may claim them."

Keeping one eye on him, Lizzy moved forward to retrieve the kittens, placing them in the basket.

"If you will move away again," offered Darcy. "I will climb under the pier to see if there are more."

Lizzy moved off the pier and waited.

Darcy removed the tarpaulin from the end of the boat and stepped into it to search there first, dipping his head and going down onto his knees to crawl along the bottom of the boat. Lizzy waited anxiously, unsure whether she should trust him, but unwilling to abandon a single kitten.

"I can hear them," came his voice from underneath the pier.

Elizabeth peered cautiously over the side. Mr Darcy had largely disappeared into the boat under the pier. She could only see his boots. Then those vanished too. She was startled when the boards of the pier creaked and his black-gloved fingertips protruded up through the gaps, moving away from her. He seemed to be climbing along underneath the pier.

"They are not in the boat but under the hut," came his muffled voice.

Lizzy felt the pier move and shift. "How on earth did she get them out from under here?" she heard his exasperated complaint.

More creaking from the groaning pier, then a gloved hand appeared from under one side and placed a tortoiseshell kitten on top.

Before Lizzy could claim it, Misty ran onto the pier hissing. Her claws outstretched, she raked at the hand that had carefully released the kitten.

"Ow!" yelled Darcy, hastily retracting his hand.

"No, Misty!" said Lizzy, grabbing the cat as it picked up the kitten by the scruff of its neck. Having restrained Misty, Lizzy shifted her grip to one hand and pulled the basket towards her with the other. "Look! Your kittens are here!"

Lizzy removed the cover from the basket to show the kittens. Misty, understanding immediately, dropped the kitten into the basket with the others. Lizzy, thinking all was now in order, released her grip on the cat. It turned and disappeared over the edge of the pier. Much hissing ensued followed by a bump.

"Ow! I am only trying to help you! Leave off!" came the cries from underneath.

Finally Misty climbed back onto the pier with another kitten. She looked exhausted. Dropping the kitten into the basket she tried to climb inside. Lizzy assisted by piling the kittens to one side to make room. After Misty had settled down to allow the kittens to feed, Lizzy ranged the kittens alongside her. All were soon busy.

The pier creaked and groaned again and Mr Darcy emerged from the boat.

"Anne thought she could hear a baby crying when we arrived here last week," he said as he replaced the tarpaulin. "I suppose it must have been the kittens. I am astonished I did not hear them. I have been here quite frequently."

"I believe women are more attuned to the sound of infants," replied Elizabeth.

Sitting back on his heels, Darcy looked at her for a moment as if he might dispute this point but only conceded by giving a nod. Standing, Darcy retreated to the hut door. By the lantern light Lizzy could see he had a long scratch along his jaw. Suddenly Elizabeth no longer felt threatened by him.

"How many are there?" he asked.

"Thirteen," Lizzy replied. "Believe it or not!"

She stretched her hand out to stroke Misty's head. "You have been busy, haven't you?"

The cat began to purr. It was the only sound in a long silence.

Finally Lizzy decided to break it. "It appears the cat does not like you very much. I do not suppose you have been visiting the parsonage around midnight, have you?"

Darcy blushed and looked away, his Adam's apple bobbed once in his throat. "I beg your pardon. I have been coming there every night, hoping for a glimpse of you. I have told you of my feelings."

"I am still having some trouble understanding them. You asked me to marry you, but is it possible that you are merely attracted to me as a..." _It seemed so strange to say the word._ "... as a vampire to his victim? Your actions this evening seem to indicate that is the case."

"It was a mistake to declare myself tonight. You... " It hardly seemed polite to speak his conclusions. "...My self-control was low tonight. I let my movements be dictated by circumstances instead of taking proper precautions. Know that my feelings are strong and real."

He leaned against the door of the hut and rested his head against his arm. "I regret I have put you in great danger."

"Should I leave now?"

"The damage is done. I drew blood from you. Possibly no harm will come of it. I do not know."

"Are you implying that I might become a vampire? I thought that you must first kill me, after which I would rise from the grave?"

"No, that is nonsense. It depends chiefly on how long I drew blood from you.

"So you are not dead?"

"No. Nor do I sleep in a coffin or dig myself into the earth by day."

"I suppose I knew that from your stay at Netherfield. What then is a vampire?"

"A person with a craving for blood."

"And an aversion of light."

"Yes, and that."

"And is that it?"

"There are some other things, which you need not concern yourself with at the moment."

Lizzy considered what he had said. "So the length of time you drew blood is important. How long then is too long?"

"More than a minute. Normally I am very careful and time myself with a watch with a secondhand. I did not intend to bite you, so regretfully I was not prepared. I lost track of time. As you swooned, I suspect you also cannot remember."

"I did not lose consciousness completely. I do not think you drew blood from me for long, certainly not a minute."

"Are you sure? You seemed to be senseless when I carried you to the couch."

"As sure as I can be in the circumstances. I remember being carried. I was unable to move, even open my eyes for a moment, but I felt less overcome when you put me down."

Darcy heaved a great sigh and looked down at the ground. "Thank you. You have considerably eased my mind."

"And if I am mistaken?"

Darcy looked at her miserably. "Then you will become a vampire. You will feel at first like you have the influenza. Soon afterwards, you will begin to crave blood, dream of biting people. If you experience these symptoms you must contact me immediately, for you will need my help. Send word to Rosings, put it under cover of my cousin Anne but be discreet. My cousin does not know of my malady."

"And if I do not contact you?"

"I pray that you will not need to. But if you do experience these symptoms and do not contact me, you will become as dangerous as a tigress and will certainly end up killing someone."

Lizzy shuddered and crossed her arms defensively. "Why did you do this to me?" she asked plaintively, not really expecting an answer.

"Please forgive me. I understand entirely how you feel and have frequently rued the day I encountered the count, the vampire who attacked me. I sincerely hope you will escape unscathed from my rash actions."

"Is there nothing I can do? Garlic? Quicksilver*? There must be something!"

"Not that I am aware of. Though I have not given up hope of finding something. I have recently developed an interest in vitalism and chemistry."

"Ah!" said Lizzy, remembering their encounter in the study at Netherfield.

Silence fell again.

"Come now," said Darcy. "You should not be wandering around in the dark. I will escort you back to the parsonage."

Lizzy gave a nervous laugh at the irony of the situation. "Mr Darcy, I believe the most dangerous thing lurking in the shadows is you."

She attempted to pick up the basket, which was considerably heavier with Misty's weight.

"Let me carry the basket for you," he offered. "Move away and I will take it."

"Do you think she will tolerate it?" asked Lizzy.

Darcy touched his glove to his jaw. "Perhaps not," he said ruminatively.

"That is quite a scratch you have on your face. How will you explain that to your aunt Catherine?"

Darcy met Elizabeth's eyes and thought he detected mischief in them. It seemed hardly possible after their encounter. "It will be gone by breakfast," he said dismissively. "That is another aspect of my revised state."

"So it is not all bad?" Lizzy enquired.

"No, not all bad," he agreed.

"Take your glove off, so Misty can smell you and see if she will tolerate you coming closer," Lizzy suggested.

"You had better back off. Keep some distance between us for safety," Darcy warned.

Lizzy did as he instructed while Darcy removed his glove and crouched down. Lizzy thought she could see a spot of blood on his hand.

"Did she manage to scratch you through your glove?"

"Yes! And they are dogskin too! So quite thick."

The words had no sooner left his mouth than he made the connection.

"Ah!" they both said in unison.

Darcy took off both gloves and threw them into the hut. "Good Misty!" he said encouragingly, reaching his hand forward.

Misty looked distinctly unimpressed but allowed his hand to be held near her nose. No claws appeared.

"Thirteen kittens," Darcy cajoled as if speaking to a child. "That is quite impressive. I do not think I have ever seen a litter so large."

"And so pretty too!" added Lizzy in a more conversational tone. "I have seen different colours in a litter but for half to be all tortoiseshell and the other half tabby—I do not think I have seen such a combination! Can it be possible they have two different fathers?"

Now it was Darcy's turn to tease. "Miss Elizabeth, would your cousin Mr Collins care to hear you express such a notion? I believe you will find all the tortoiseshells are female. That is always the case. Perhaps also the tabbies in this litter are male. Although that is not always the case, as Misty herself demonstrates," he said, reaching out to attempt to stroke the cat.

"Really?" mused Elizabeth. "I have heard that ginger cats are generally male, but not always."

"Yes, sex seems to be related to coat colour in cats," he said running his hand tentatively over Misty's fur.

The cat submitted although she did not purr. Finally Darcy put his hand to the basket handle and picked it up.

"I believe we can go," he said. "You light the way."

Lizzy hesitated.

Darcy thought she was still unsure if she should turn her back on him. "I assure you that I have myself under control now. As long as I keep a proper distance you are safe."

But Lizzy felt she had uncovered great truths that night and was reluctant to leave the magic of the moonlight. "Is scent then the basis of your attraction to your victims?"

"It is a critical instinct that failed me terribly tonight."

Lizzy nodded in understanding.

"Please," said Darcy, "I will not feel at ease until I have seen you safe home."

Lizzy got up reluctantly. There was so much she wanted to ask; so much she needed to understand. But she acknowledged that she needed to return to the parsonage.

She picked up the lantern to walk ahead of him. Walking back seemed terribly lonely, particularly without the comfort of her live cargo. Twice she stopped to check if Mr Darcy was following her. He was not within the lantern's beam but his voice urged her to continue.

Finally Elizabeth reached the parsonage. She opened the door and set the lantern on a shelf inside. At his urging, she stepped backwards into the hall while he placed the basket on the step. Once he retreated, she took the basket inside. Looking back through the aperture before she closed it, she saw Mr Darcy step briefly from the shadows to salute her. Then he was gone.

* * *

When Darcy left the parsonage for the second time that night and headed off towards the tenants' cottages, his heart felt somewhat healed. After fleeing the parsonage following his disastrous proposal, all the lowness of spirit that had engulfed him upon his return from the Continent had rushed back upon him as he made his way to the hut. This was accompanied by a deep self-loathing he had not experienced before, bringing him to a new nadir. There had seemed no point to his existence.

Darcy had almost determined to do away with himself there and then. There was a barrel of pitch beside the hut that had been used to waterproof the pier in the old gamekeeper's day, which he had thought might serve as the basis of a suitably hot fire. Still, what if he had changed Elizabeth? Was it right for him to abandon her to suffer the change alone? Nonetheless, he had retrieved the pitch from outside the hut while he debated his next actions in his mind. It was only when he had climbed back onto the pier that he had seen the two kittens.

Elizabeth's arrival soon after had been his salvation. Granted she had come for the kittens, not him. But the fact that she did not run away screaming upon encountering him lent him considerable hope. Could it be there was a way back from the brink?

Darcy really wanted to return to his bedchamber immediately to discuss the matter with Finn or Richard. Only the knowledge that he might do further damage kept him to his usual timetable of nocturnal visits, although he kept well clear of the parsonage on his way to the village.

Finally, near dawn, he returned to Rosings. On nearing the portico, Darcy perceived someone wrapped in a cloak in the shadow of the doorway, seated upon the doorstep with their back against the wood of the door. He thought at first it was a servant, waiting to be let in, but when they started up upon seeing him, a flash of scarlet was revealed under the cloak and Darcy thought he recognised his cousin. Half a dozen steps more revealed his mistake when the figure stepped from the shadows. It was George Wickham.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*flung out the window—carelessly discard

*the coast is clear—a term used to indicate no one is about, often employed when you are up to skulduggery. May have originated in smuggling.

*chip off the old block—someone who is very similar to their father or mother.

*quicksilver—mercury


	29. Double-cross purposes

**To the guest who complained about the footnotes, if you read my comments on Amazon, you will see that some reviewers complained about my use of unfamiliar Regency terms. Anything in a footnote you will not find in the Concise Oxford ie you won't be able to look it up with the Kindle dictionary. The footnotes are there to help people and are also a double check on anachronisms. Why do you feel threatened by them? You don't have to read them.**

 **Thanks for picking up the apostrophe, _alix33_. I do know the difference (he would have to be a rich tenant :) ) but I frequently get caught out by auto completion and auto correction.**

 **I'm afraid it really was dogskin in those days, though. Although dogs and horses were not farmed for their by-products—people were less sentimental then, or maybe more environmentally friendly—horses got sent to the glue factory via the knacker's yards and dogs were turned into gloves.**

 **Suggestions for the title of Chapter 28 were:**

 **"Something Wick(ham)ed This Way Comes" by _Deanna27_ ,**

 **"The Cat's Out of the Bag" by _Dizzy Lizzy.60,_**

 **"Damnation and Salvation" by _Chica De Los Ojas Cafe,_**

 **"Picking up litter" or "Litterbug" by _Anglocelt_ ,**

 **"Prowling the night", "Things that go bump" or "Pitch black" by _phyloxena_ ,**

 **"salvation" or "Lizzy to the rescue" by _lupinsboggart_ ,**

 **"KittyRescue" by _JAFan1995_ ,**

 **"Rescue" by _nessy22_ ,**

 **"Rescue of the beasts", "Off the edge", "Of Fangs and Claws" by _Ansujali_ ,**

 **"Litter by the dozen" or "Mighty maiden" or "Unexpected rescuers" by _Laura SaintYves,_**

 **"Saving the Innocents" by _Clara84_ ,**

 **"Detente", "Unexpected Intervention", "Lucky Number 13",**

 **Once Bitten Not Shy by _amamama_ ,**

 **Saved by the Cat," "Kitty Litter," "Keeping His Distance," "Loving You from Afar," or "Touch Not the Cat," by _Sacredwoman2K_ ,**

 **"Different Kinds of Exit", "Exits in many ways", "T go or not to go", "Cats" OR "Cats and Fangs" (meaning Elizabeth and Misty as well as Mr. Darcy and Wickham - or must it be Claws?) "Wild Beasts" by _beaty_**

 **Oh so many good ones! Kudos to _Deanna27_ , _amamama_ and _phyloxena_ —especially for "pitch black".**

 **I too thought of "Kitty Litter", _Sacredwoman2K_ , based on Anglocelt's suggestions. Very tempting, but someone will condescendingly flame me on Amazon for sure about anachronisms :)**

 **Finally "Kitty Rescue" by _JAFan1995_ made me think of "Having kittens" which I think describes how the three major characters in the chapter are feeling.**

 **Such a tough decision. I don't want to give too much away, so I think I will go with "Fangs and claws". Congrats, _Ansujali_ , who also gets a special prize for managing to put in two logged-in reviews for the same chapter. How the hell did you manage that? Different platforms?**

* * *

 **Chapter 29 Double-cross purposes**

"Well, well, Darcy! You are a sight for sore eyes*!" said Wickham as he stepped from the shadows.

"George. What are you doing here?" asked Darcy, fearing he knew the answer too well, but still astonished that George felt he could importune him after nigh on putting a period to his existence during the debacle of Georgiana's elopement. It was completely in character with George, but still shocking.

"Well, it's good to see you too, old fellow!"

Darcy grimaced. George always knew how to put him on his back foot*.

"Just thought I'd make a morning call, eh?" pursued George.

"Not at five in the morning, George," replied Darcy.

"Seems only natural. You're in Kent. I'm in Sussex. Besides, you know your aunt wouldn't let me put a foot in the door if I came at regular hours."

"Cut line*, George. What do you want?"

"Loan me a pony*, will you, dear boy?"

Darcy sighed. "George I had thought you had turned over a new leaf* when I saw you had joined the militia."

"And so I have," replied George. "The company is convivial but my prospects of promotion are nil."

"A pony is hardly enough to buy you a promotion."

"Make it a monkey* then," offered George.

"If I thought you were engaged in your profession, I might be willing to purchase you a promotion, but you've been gambling again, haven't you, George?"

There was a pause.

"I know your secret," said George quietly.

"What secret?" retorted Darcy baldly.

"Not many people survive a gunshot wound like yours, Darcy. But may be you were not alive in the first place, eh?"

"So you intended to deal me a mortal blow?" said Darcy, too disturbed by the lack of remorse on the part of his childhood friend to consider his words beyond the figurative. After all, George had accused him of being a stick in the mud many times.

"Oh no!" soothed George. "One should never bite the hand that feeds one!"

"That seems rather disingenuous, coming from you."

"I have only ever asked for what should have rightfully been mine as your father's godson. What a paltry patrimony that has turned out to be!"

Darcy forbore to explain the difference between a son and a godson as he had previously done. He appreciated now that the damage had been done when they had been brought up together almost as brothers after the untimely passing of George's father, Pemberley's trusted steward.

"No," continued George, "the pistol was merely intended to make you keep your distance while you conceded to the wisdom of letting Georgie marry me. What choice did I have? If you would not honour your father's intentions, I felt I could only claim what was due to me by matrimony. You brought the whole thing on yourself. I had no idea you would fly at me that way, with your fangs barred."

Darcy paled. His fangs had been smaller then. He had assumed that George's terror had erased that incident from his mind or precluded him noticing anything untoward. After all, George had not taxed him about it in Hertfordshire.

"I was angry, George. You should have known better then to have touched my sister. That is the one thing I could never forgive."

"Very smooth," replied George. "You are learning, dear boy. You are learning. Unfortunately not good enough. I will tell you that I happened to uncover the name of your correspondent when you were in Hertfordshire—Báthory. Strange name that, but oddly familiar. I couldn't remember where I had heard it before."

Darcy realised he was not breathing and reminded himself to respire normally.

"Forgot completely about it till the other day," continued George conversationally. "Found myself drinking with some fellows telling ghost stories. Always good fun round a campfire at night. So you haven't been well since your trip to the Continent? To be more specific—Eastern Europe. Don't like the light?"

Darcy forced himself to swallow.

"So now I know why I encountered you skulking around Meryton..." said Wickham; "why I only ever saw you at evening functions but never in the daylight. You, my friend, are a vampire."

"Don't be ridiculous," returned Darcy in the lightest tone he could manage. He had never been a good liar.

"I thought you would say that. Which is why I decided to do a little surveillance tonight before I confronted you. I followed you to the parsonage. My, my! Miss Elizabeth looks like a tasty morsel!"

Darcy started forward menacingly but Wickham was ready for him. He took several steps sideways to circle Darcy.

"Don't think I've come ill-prepared—a cross, garlic and holy water," he said, pointing to a necklace at his throat and pulling several objects from his pockets with his left hand. "And if that's not enough. I know that this will at least slow you down," he said, drawing a pistol from the folds of his cloak with his right. "To cap it all, the sun is about to rise."

"Why do you believe anyone would listen to your fantastic story?" posed Darcy.

"I am fairly confident of my ability to convince people," smirked Wickham. "Perhaps rational men like yourself might be incredulous, but what say you to the peasantry? A few tenants coming to a very public sticky end is likely to cause riots."

This perturbed Darcy even more. Was George capable of committing murder in the course of blackmail? Darcy sighed, determined not to show his agitation. "George, this endless searching for the main game has got to stop. Sponging* is not a respectable profession. I expect encamping at Brighton has made you dissatisfied. You see the regulars and want to exchange. I can understand that. I will not give you five hundred pounds. In fact, I'm not sure I even have twenty-five upon me, but I will try to find you a better commission in the regulars."

"I fancy a captaincy in a Hussar regiment," said George, quick to seize the opportunity. Although this was not his ultimate goal, which was to cut a dash in London society, he could see it headed him the right direction. Wickham had recently become an admirer of the career of Joachim Murat*, who had been born an innkeeper's son and risen to be a king.

"I am not sure what the situation is after Napoleon's defeat," said Darcy, unwilling to promise what he could not deliver. "I expect the government will be reducing the army in peacetime."

"The casualties at Waterloo were high. I am sure there will be vacancies. I rely on you and your connections," pressured Wickham. "As for now, whatever you have on you will help with my immediate embarrassments."

Darcy retrieved a ten pound note and a couple of golden guineas from his pockets.

"Is that all?" asked Wickham incredulously.

"George, I am staying with my aunt. What need have I to carry around money? Do you have a list of your creditors?"

"Dammit, I am not a baby. They are mostly debts of honour. Just give me the money."

"I can get it to you most likely by tomorrow or the day after. But I give you the money and the promotion on one condition, George—that there will be no more abandoning your profession, no more gambling, and most of all, you must leave me and my family alone. This is your last chance, George."

"Darcy, it is all very well for you to preach propriety. You have never been purse-pinched!*. Try walking a mile in my shoes—an orphan with no friend or relative to shield him from misfortune. Your father's death was a cruel loss to me. Who knew that you, who were like a brother to me, would so callously ignore your father's wishes."

Darcy would hear no more of this refrain. He knew there was some merit to Wickham's grievances but he also realised that George was so lacking in self-restraint that he was potentially a bottomless pit into which the whole Darcy fortune could disappear. Many an ancient family had been ruined by just such a young blood*.

"Where can I find you at Brighton?" Darcy prompted.

"I have an errand in London but I will be back by this evening. Is that fishing hut still down by the lake?"

"Yes."

"Meet me there at midnight."

Inwardly Darcy sighed but as he nodded in agreement, the countryside around them was suddenly bathed in brilliant light as the sun peeped over the horizon and he instinctively flinched. Fortunately they were on the west side of the house. Squinting, Darcy turned his back on George and disappeared inside.

George sauntered off towards the fishing hut. Now that he had some ready*, it was his intention to seek a meal and accommodation in the nearest market town* where he had agreed to meet Denny for their trip back to Brighton. But he was dead on his feet after attempting to follow Darcy last night. it was still a bit early to get a lift in a farmer's cart. He would have a kip* before proceeding.

Luck had initially favoured George last night when Darcy had emerged from the house earlier than he had expected. George had managed to keep up with Darcy as far as the parsonage. That had certainly paid dividends! Peering through the parlour window George had been just in time to see Darcy seducing Elizabeth Bennet. How long has that been going on? George wondered. He remembered meeting Darcy coming from Longbourn on that rainy night with Denny. George had heard that maidens derived a lustful pleasure from having their blood sucked. Had Darcy been visiting Elizabeth even then? If so, Elizabeth was certainly a jade* for she had given Wickham no inkling of an affair. But why should that surprise him? Elizabeth was likely just Mary Younge—prim and proper on the surface and roiling lust underneath.

Wickham had been forced to dive for cover when Darcy chose to leave the parsonage so precipitately after carrying Elizabeth to the couch. It was a pity George had been unable to hear their exchange but he supposed it was a lover's tiff. Darcy seemed to have disappeared into thin air after that—probably in his bat form, thought Wickham. After losing his quarry, George had decided it would be safest to await Darcy at the servants' door of Rosings, where a fellow might slip in and out without notice. But the fiend had not returned until near dawn, resulting in a long and uncomfortable watch.

Finally George arrived at the lake where a fog had settled on its waters. After getting his boots wet crossing an accursed plank, he stepped onto the pier and made his way to the hut, nudging aside a small barrel with his leg that was blocking the way.

An hour later, still sunk in a deep sleep in a wing chair with his boots propped on a stool, George was rudely awakened.

"What the hell are you doing here?" demanded a stentorian voice.

George snapped awake. Struggling for breath, he realised his collar was being held in a vice-like grip. Fighting like a madman he broke free but not before he heard the collar of his jacket rip. Only when he was catching his breath did he recognise his assailant—Darcy's cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, whom George had thought to be still with the Army of Occupation in France. Richard had always hated him and if he had been apprised of the attempted elopement with Georgie, Wickham knew he was dead meat. Eyeing his adversary keenly, George detected annoyance in Richard's eyes but not murder.

"Darcy sent you here, did he?" said George, standing up and brazenly crossing his arms, annoyed but doing his best not to show it.

"I don't need permission to be on my aunt's property but you do. What are you doing here?"

"I was passing through and dropped in to visit Darcy."

"Came to sponge on him, more like," growled the colonel.

"I am on my way to Brighton," said George, refusing to concede anything. "You should know we are training there."

The colonel vowed George's uniform askance. "So you have joined the militia, have you? You ought to keep your uniform in better order. Your boots are muddy; there is a black spot on your breeches and your collar is torn."

George frowned upon discovering the colonel was right—there ways a large spot on his trouser leg. As the state of his collar was entirely the colonel's fault, he ground his teeth but had better sense than to backchat a superior officer, even when they were dressed in a considerably more scruffy uniform.

"My horse went lame and not having the money to hire a job horse to complete the journey, I thought of Darcy, who is generally to be found at Rosings around Easter." Indeed, George's horse was lame, which was why he had not ridden him. But the blacksmith had assured him he would be right after a day's rest.

"You are a bit off the main road," observed Richard dryly as he pulled several guineas from his pocket. "That should get you to Brighton," he said, flinging the golden coins at Wickham. "Take yourself off and if I find you attempting to sponge on Darcy once more, I will make you sorry for it."

George was incandescent but did his best not to show it. How dare Darcy renege on his promise and send his cousin down to deal with him! With a salute and a stiff bow, he pushed past the colonel to escape the hut. He gave vent to his temper by kicking the barrel on the pier aside, only to discover it was heavy when he stubbed his toe. It seemed to be full of some black stuff oozing from one top. Double enraged, George headed off to hitch a lift on the main road, seething with indignation. His luck returned as soon as he crossed the stile. George encountered a farmer's cart almost immediately and got a lift to the inn. As he sat on the tailboard next to the pumpkins, George's mind boiled with plans for revenge.

The cart ride did much to restore George's temper. Arriving at the inn, George assumed his charm like a cloak to bid the farmer goodbye. On the stairs, he flirted with the pretty maid who showed him to his room. When she offered to clean his breeches and mend his collar while he slept, he gallantly kissed her hand, and when that was well received, made his way to her lips.

"You been a fight, have you?" she breathed between kisses.

"You should have seen the other fellow!" boasted George.

Finally George stuck his tongue in her mouth and squeezed her breast before feigning near exhaustion. After helping him off with his boots and breeches and tucking him tenderly into the sheets, the maid closed the curtains and took herself off. George fell asleep with pleasant dreams—after driving a stake through Darcy's dead heart, a forgotten will of old Mr Darcy's was discovered, leaving Pemberley to his godson on condition that he marry Georgiana and take the family name...

When Denny arrived at the inn just after midday, he was informed that Lieutenant Wickham was indeed lodging there. But when he discovered his friend had only laid down to sleep at ten in the morning, Denny had a pint in the taproom before taking himself off to wander aimlessly through the town. Denny was such a simple soul that he had not been in the least angry when George had handed over the communique he had been tasked to deliver and sent him on to London alone. George's explanation that he was short of funds and had a relative in the district he could impose upon had been sufficient explanation. So Denny, who had only gone along to London with George for the ride, had completed Lieutenant Wickham's job for him and agreed to meet his friend at the inn in the slightly out of the way market town. But when Wickham had still not come down by three, Denny decided he would have to rouse him—for they were expected back at camp at sunset.

After explaining the urgency of their timetable to the landlord in the tap, the proprietor agreed to let Denny into George's room.

"George, George!" said Denny, bending over the bed to shake his friend.

"Leave off!" muttered George, attempting to roll over.

"George, we need to be off! Colonel Forster is expecting us back by sunset."

Coming more fully awake, George sat up, immediately intent on conscripting Denny into his plans. But when he saw the landlord still standing in the doorway, he bit his tongue. "Thank you, my good man!" he called to the proprietor. "I slept a little longer than I intended!"

"And no wonder!" said the landlord. "You looked quite fagged when you came in, sir. No hard feelings that I let the gentleman in? He seems quite intent on departing."

"Not at all!" replied George cheerfully. "It is true we must be off!"

"Very well, sir. I'll send Sally up with your breeches."

The door was closed and George drew Denny down to sit beside him on the bed, putting his arm around his shoulder. "Denny, I need your help."

"You know you always have it, George!"

"Things did not quite go to plan. My friend agreed to lend me a pony but before he could get it to me his cousin got wind of the deal."

"Is that bad?" asked Denny.

"Very bad," confided Wickham. "I need your help to convince him that it would be best to help me out."

"Sure. What would you like me to do?"

Before Wickham could answer, there was a knock at the door and the maid entered on being summoned.

"I'm ever so sorry, sir," she apologised. "I managed to get some of it out, but there is still a mark there. You will need to take it to a proper washerwoman. Pitch it was—very difficult to shift!"

Wickham thanked her and dispensed a shilling, then waited for her to leave. A little disappointed, the maid glanced resentfully towards Denny, sitting on the bed in the place she had fancied herself occupying. She had hoped for a more substantial reward for her toil once the handsome officer had rested. Reluctantly she departed.

"It's best if we talk elsewhere," George told Denny, pulling his breeches on. "There's a halfway house on the road to Brighton. Well head off there to wait for the evening. That way, it will look as if we have left the district."

"But what about the colonel? He expects us back at sunset."

"Don't worry," assured George. "We'll pitch him some gammon. My horse went lame didn't it?"

"That won't fadge*," said Denny, shaking his head. "He'll ask why we didn't hire another horse."

"Then we were delayed at headquarters," suggested Wickham. "You think of a better excuse. It's part of your training as a spy—how to get out of sticky situations. I need to formulate our more immediate plans."

As they rode to the halfway house, Wickham mulled over his course of action while Denny punctuated his own deep ruminations with spirited bouts of whistling. George immediately identified Elizabeth as leverage to get what he wanted from Darcy. But George knew enough of the spirited Elizabeth Bennet to realise she could not be easily compromised or kidnapped. The presence of Richard Fitzwilliam at Rosings was an additional complication which also made such a bold action inadvisable. No, George realised he would have to do something that threatened Elizabeth—a near miss that looked like an accident but which Darcy would clearly recognise for the threat it was.

It was a pleasant day and when the warm afternoon sun fell on his breeches, George became vaguely aware of a hot patch on his skin and scratched at it. It was at that moment that his eye fell irritably on the dark mark that the maid had not completely laundered out—pitch, she had said. Where had he come by that? It was then that all the pieces fell beautifully into place—the barrel of pitch at the hut, the thatched cottage that was the parsonage and Elizabeth Bennet.

Over a tankard of beer, Wickham had apprised Denny of his plans. The ensign had at first not been enthusiastic but when Wickham had assured him that no one need get hurt, Denny had acquiesced. Under cover of darkness they had ridden as far as the parsonage, tied their horses up nearby, then gone on foot to retrieve the pitch from the hut. They had taken turns carrying the heavy barrel back to the parsonage. Wickham had retrieved some straw from near the gardener's hut and opened the barred kitchen door with his small sword to let Denny into the house. As George had hoped, the coals were still glowing in the kitchen hearth.

After arranging the straw about the kitchen and lacing it with pitch, Wickham pulled out his watch and instructed Denny to retrieve his also.

"I left it on my nightstand in Brighton," lamented Denny.

Wickham frowned at him. "Here, you'll have to take mine," he whispered, handing over the inscribed watch old Mr Darcy had given him. "Wait fifteen minutes to allow me time to get to the manor house so that I can raise the alarm in a timely fashion. Then light it. Run to the village to raise the alarm there, but don't let anyone see you well enough to identify you, then wait for me by the horses."

 **Footnotes**

*a sight for sore eyes – a person or thing that one is extremely pleased or relieved to see after some extremity. First recorded by Jonathan Swift on 1738 in A complete collection of genteel and ingenious conversation, 1738, but likely not coined by him.

*put him on the back foot - to put him in a defensive position, reactive rather than active. May come from cricket or swordsmanship.

*cut line - get to the point. I'm not sure if this means queue jumping or is a naval term denoting divesting oneself of unnecessary baggage ie cutting the line of a prize ship you are towing so that you can go faster

*pony - £25 (of the order of $2000 in today's money). Money slang like pony and monkey may have come from India where these animals were on some of the currency.

*turned over a new leaf - made a fresh start, reformed your character

*monkey - £500, (of the order of $35000 in today's money)

*sponging — leeching money from someone while doing nothing or little in return. Sponging houses abounded at the time. These were legal institutions where debtors with prospects were confined. They were charged extortionate sums for basic services until they could extract themselves.

*Joachim Murat – Murat was the son of an affluent innkeeper. He studied for the church but ran away to join the cavalry. A handsome dandy who was also very brave, his influence rose during the revolution. A trusted general, he married Napoleon's sister Caroline. As brother–in–law to the emperor and trusty, he was crowned King of Naples.

*purse-pinched — in straightened circumstances habitually poor, first recorded use 1603 - Microcosmos, John Davies

*young blood – a person who does not conform, generally used now in a positive sense to convey a person with fresh ideas and energy, used negatively in the past to describe rash or revolutionary young men.

*ready — cash

*kip — nap

*market town — a medium–sized town, like Meryton, where markets were held, a commercial centre. Bigger than a village like Longbourn or Hunsford.

*jade — disreputable woman

*won't fadge—won't work.


	30. The dark knight

**Just a reminder that no one has yet solved the acrostics at the end of _Via Luton_ or _Time's Up._ So if you bought the print edition, check them out and send your entries in via review of the relevant story on fanfiction. The first correct entry for each wins a hard copy and Kindle version of the book of your choice, including the upcoming _Sweet Torment_ , hopefully released before Christmas or _The Lectrice,_ following sometime in 2018.**

 **Aha! The FFN app is the secret to multiple reviews, _Ansujali_. Well, you learn something every day.**

 **The equivalent values I quoted come from the uk national archives currency converter. It's not exactly proportional because the cost of different goods has not increased by the same amount over time. Inflation is only an average. For example, small goods used not to be so cheap. People could still make a living from selling goods they had made in the street.**

 **Suggestions for the title of Chapter 29 were**

 **"Out, out damned spot" or "Sticky Wicky" by _Anglocelt_ ,**

' **Sticky Wicket' by _JAFan1995_ ,**

 **"A monkey and an ape" by _phyloxena_ ,**

 **"Play with fire" or "Heap coals of fire upon his head" or "Fire is a good servant but a bad master" by _Laure Saintyves_ ,**

 **"Young Blood" or "Sponge" by _Chica De Los Ojas Cafe,_**

 **"Return of the Albatross" or "The Plot Thickens" by _Dizzy Lizzy.60_**

 **"Pitch In and Help" by _Missouri Walker,_**

 **"Sparkling idea", or "enlightening" or "hot spot" by _nessy22_ ,**

 **"Grifters gonna grift" by _Ansujali_ ,**

 **"Double-cross purposes" by _Deanna27_ ,**

 **Kudos, _Anglocelt_ , for the Shakespearean reference "Out, out damned spot". Yes, _Deanna27_ , helpful Richard was inadvertently being unhelpful again. "Double-cross purposes" it is.**

* * *

 **Chapter 30 The dark knight**

 _ **Synopsis** : Thinking Darcy has reneged on_ _his_ _promise to help his pecuniary situation, George enlists Denny's help with a little persuasion._

Elizabeth had woken on the night of her bizarre meetings with Mr Darcy not because Misty was hissing and snarling, but because she was not. The cat sat serenely on windowsill in the moonlight, staring out into the garden. From the kittens under Lizzy's bed there was not a peep.

Faced with the problem of hiding Misty's progeny from her cousin after returning from the hut with the basket, Lizzy had briefly considered the garden shed before deciding that location to be far too risky—Mr Collins not infrequently went out to the shed at first light for some reason or other. He was very much preoccupied with his garden and his bees—only Lady Catherine merited more of his time. His wife was a very distant third. In the end, Lizzy could think of no better solution than to keep the kittens in the room she shared with Mariah. She had not relocated to Sir William's room after he returned to Hertfordshire as Charlotte had suggested, principally because she had not wanted to confuse Misty, whose nightly visits had become part of Lizzy's daily routine at the parsonage.

When the Hunsford party returned from Rosings, Charlotte had, of course, accompanied Mariah up to her room to check on Elizabeth whereupon Lizzy immediately apprised her friend of her new charges. Mariah was enchanted by their roommates, cooing and clucking so loudly over the kittens that Mr Collins came to the door. Instantly in accord, the ladies all stood to hide the basket behind their skirts while Charlotte explained they were discussing the fashion journal that Lizzy had been reading. No evidence of this publication was supplied or requested. Mr Collins contented himself merely with admonishing them for coveting worldly goods.

 _Particularly ones,_ thought Charlotte wryly as her husband took himself off, _that would drain his pockets_. Having temporarily disposed of her husband, Charlotte agreed with Lizzy that Mr Collins would be wanting to drown the kittens if he got wind of them, given his previous attempts to dump the expectant Misty.

Thus the kittens ended up under Lizzy's bed for their first night in residence at the parsonage. Charlotte promised to find a safe haven in a part of the gardener's shed that Mr Collins did not frequent once he had gone off to wait on Lady Catherine on the morrow.

Having woken on her first night of kitten sitting, Elizabeth found it difficult to go back to sleep. Her mind seemed to be tumbling in circles, preoccupied not with her feline charges but Mr Darcy. Her discovery that Mr Darcy was a vampire was certainly enough to keep anyone awake at night, but Lizzy found she was equally fixated with the newfound knowledge that Mr Darcy had been attracted to her from the start. When had that ever happened before? Gentlemen had always preferred Jane's fair beauty.

Lizzy supposed it must be some weird vampire thing, an attraction to some anomaly in her blood or her scent. But in the back of her mind lurked her father's reassurances—that he considered his two eldest equally handsome. If current fashions preferred pale beauties, Mr Bennet assured Lizzy, she should not repine, because she would be assured that a gentleman who favoured her over Jane appreciated that characteristic in her that Jane lacked—wit. To Lizzy's protestations, Mr Bennet agreed that Jane was not stupid, but neither—he assured his second eldest—would Jane ever be known for her great intellect.

Lizzy thought again of her conversations on alchemy with Mr Darcy, which he preferred to call chemistry. They were not much, so brief. But she had felt a connection with him. He had listened to her and not teased her afterwards for being a bluestocking. The encounter in Netherfield's study; their discussion at the Lucases' soirée; his demonstration of the sugar match on the balcony—on the few occasions they had conversed on the topic, Mr Darcy had spoken to her like a rational person, not talked down at her because she was a lady. His behaviour was in stark contrast to that of Mr Collins who frequently belittled and spoke condescendingly to Charlotte when she clearly had the superior intellect. Lizzy had begun to suspect that her cousin knew it and was actually trying to create an alternate reality where the reverse was true—though whether his behaviour was driven by conscious effort or a defensive reaction to his own mediocrity she could not guess.

However these thoughts inevitably led to the aftermath of her discussion with Mr Darcy at the ball—his abduction of her from the balcony. Elizabeth realised now that Mr Darcy must have been stalking her for some time. First, there had been that weird meeting in the rain after Mr Collins' proposal—searching for the chicken thief, indeed! What a bouncer! How many nights had Mr Darcy been waiting outside before she had finally encountered him? Despite his denials, had she indeed wounded him that night of the disturbance in the chicken coop? The location of his bloody handkerchief, right where she had directed her shot, seemed to support it. And had she not initially believed she had heard an oath amidst the cacophony of the hens?

Elizabeth's mind then turned to the night of her first marriage proposal. She shuddered involuntarily, wondering briefly how Charlotte could bear her husband. Elizabeth's stay at Hunsford had not improved her opinion of Mr Collins. Rather it proved the maxim—that familiarity bred contempt. Her mind instinctively flinched from thoughts of her oily cousin to the more intriguing topic of Mr Darcy. It was on that night that Mr Darcy had stroked her neck. The thought of it made Elizabeth shiver again, though whether from dread or excitement, she was not sure. She had thought it a little weird at the time, more than a little forward on his part. It now took on new significance. How could she have been so lost to propriety as to have allowed him the liberty? Elizabeth supposed she had been still overset by her cousin's declaration. She had called Mr Darcy out on touching her, hadn't she? But then, she had invited him inside... Good Lord! What had inspired her to do that? Had that been her fatal mistake, or was that a load of hogwash as Mr Darcy had implied most of vampire lore was?

Then, there was the incident at the Netherfield ball. Lizzy had firmly relegated that shameful episode to the back of her mind, too aware of her own complicity in events. She knew she had behaved poorly by not protesting when Mr Darcy had made off with her in the first place, and to have submitted meekly when he had tried to kiss her... well, it had been highly reprehensible! But of course Elizabeth realised now that Mr Darcy had not been trying to kiss her, but to bite her, and had bitten her choker instead.

So how was it with him? Did Mr Darcy merely crave her blood or was there something deeper there? Lizzy knew the answer immediately—he had asked her to marry him, told her his darkest secret. He loved her. But what did she know of this mysterious stranger who wished to make her his bride? Firstly, there was not the least evidence for the rakish persona she had constructed for him to explain his nighttime wanderings—the entire edifice was built on her need to understand everything and Lieutenant Wickham's fables. What else did she know of Mr Darcy? That he was hardworking, respected, a bit of a scholar—characteristics she could admire. Everything suggested he was an honest man fighting unnatural urges.

With a surge of emotion Elizabeth's feelings broke through the barriers she had constructed to protect herself. Lizzy knew she was in love with Mr Darcy; had been attracted to him to the first. But she was confronted with a new barrier—not his poor character. He was a horror, a blood sucking fiend. Perhaps he had turned her into one too? What had he said?—that it would feel like the grippe. Lizzy imagined briefly that she had a temperature; felt her forehead, her upper lip; knew instantly that her only malady was her feverish thoughts. Then, inspired by her fears for herself, Elizabeth suddenly understood and felt deeply sorry for Mr Darcy. She had glimpsed his despair. Take pity on him, he had pleaded. But did she love Mr Darcy enough to marry him in his unnatural state? What would it be like to live with such an altered man?

Near dawn, Lizzy drifted back to sleep, rocked in Darcy's arms as he ran through the night. Uncharacteristically she slept through Mariah getting up and breakfast, and was only roused by a need to attend to her toilette. Charlotte knocked soon after. Mr Collins had gone off to Rosings. They could rehouse the kittens.

After tea and toast, the friends went out to the garden shed together. Although the cat had been nowhere to be found when they removed the basket from the bedchamber, she ran across the lawn with a mouse in her mouth as they entered the shed. Misty watched in bemusement as Lizzy and Charlotte placed the basket of kittens under an old potting table, relegated to the back of the shed. Pulling some lumber and pots in front of the table they left a space large enough to admit Misty. After being encouraged to enter, Misty disposed of her mouse in two gulps in order to explore her new home. Clearly satisfied, she settled down to feed the kittens while Mariah and Charlotte arranged some garden canes to further obscure the refuge.

The rest of the morning was spent in housework, with a trip to the village to purchase some shopping and a new basket. Charlotte found her friend quite abstracted, but Lizzy avowed her silences to a poor night's sleep, which was true enough. The ladies watched with some anxiety when Mr Collins made his first trip to the garden shed in the afternoon. But he emerged oblivious of its new inhabitants and happily toiled in his garden in ignorance of the kittens' occupation. Misty seemed to have enough sense to avoid the master of Hunsford parsonage, being conspicuously absent during his sojourn in the garden. On the lookout, Mariah spotted the cat leaving the shed only when Mr Collins repaired to his domicile for dinner.

Mr Collins declared Elizabeth away with the fairies* during dinner when she failed to reply to one of his false solicitations for her opinion, which invariably fished for compliments on his 'humble abode'. Charlotte admonished her husband gently, reminding him that Elizabeth was still not feeling her best. Elizabeth was indeed distracted as the clock struck nine. The scabs on her arm began suddenly to itch, marking out the witching hour. After dinner, all the ladies endured another of Fordyce's sermons. When Mariah yawned at its conclusion, Elizabeth could have kissed her. The visitors bid Charlotte and Mr Collins goodnight and sought their beds. Exhausted, Elizabeth fell instantly asleep.

* * *

Hours later, after Wickham had let Denny into the kitchen, the ensign waited in the darkness for the allotted fifteen minutes to elapse, consulting Wickham's watch impatiently several times. He could not be easy about George's plan. Even though the villagers and the manor house were to be alerted quickly, with likely not much damage done, the sheer destruction of it bothered Denny. Wickham had assured him that many things were done in exigency during war that revolted a well-bred gentleman. Denny had feebly protested that they had not practised setting things alight in drills. But he had heard stories from more seasoned soldiers in Brighton that loaned weight to the truth of George's words.

Finally the fifteen minutes were up. Denny transferred the coals to the straw, walking away from the hearth with the scuttle in one hand and the small shovel in the other. Having distributed the coals, he withdrew the bellows tucked under his left arm and returned from the door puffing air at the embers. The alacrity with which the straw and pitch caught fire was alarming. Setting down the bellows hastily, Denny turned to find his way out suddenly blocked with flames, albeit not large ones. Panicking, he grabbed a jug to douse a path to safety, not realising that it contained not water but whale oil. In a flash, the flames leapt higher. Denny jumped back in fright, tripping over a broom and hitting his head on the edge of a cast iron pot.

* * *

Elizabeth dreamed that Misty had laid down to rest upon her face. She swatted at the cat to move it, but it would not budge. She could not breathe. A sense of desperation overtook her but she could not move. It was only when she felt a sharp pain on her face that Lizzy woke. She struggled to sit up in bed, wondering why she felt so lethargic. Commanding her legs to move under her, Lizzy tried to stand and felt her knees collapse under her. That was when Misty rubbed her face again and she realised that the cat was trying to help her. It was so dark, Lizzy could only see inches in front of herself. Crawling after Misty, she reached the wall and hauled herself up to the window. Sticking her head outside, Elizabeth gasped fresher air. Down below there was chaos and shouting, villagers passing buckets along a line. She realised the parsonage was on fire, her bedchamber filled with smoke. Misty agitatedly pushed past her, jumping down to a ledge and meowing at her piteously. Clearly she wanted Lizzy to follow.

That was when Elizabeth remembered Mariah. Taking several deep breaths, Elizabeth crawled back along the floor, bumping into Mariah's bed and pulling herself up to the level of the mattress to shake the girl. Mariah moved in response but did not wake. Elizabeth found flesh and pinched. Mariah immediately cried out, sat up and started coughing. Elizabeth found a flailing arm and grasped it, attempting to pull the girl down beside her onto the floor. Mariah resisted determinedly. Feeling her lungs about to burst, Lizzy scrambled desperately back to the window where she collapsed upon the windowsill.

Misty scratched Lizzy again as she gasped for air. Elizabeth's eyes refocused. She heard Charlotte shouting. Forcing her head to the side, Lizzy saw the village blacksmith climb upon the water butt in an attempt to reach Charlotte and Mr Collins, who were sitting astride the windowsill of their bedchamber in their nightgear. Somewhere glass exploded. Mr Collins shrieked, launching himself from the window at the same time. He screamed as he hit the ground, rolling in agony. Two men arrived with a short ladder. Propping this on the butt, the blacksmith managed to almost reach Charlotte. More shouting, then Charlotte attempted to lower herself from the windowsill with her arms. She slipped, just as the blacksmith grabbed her foot from below. Charlotte fell against the wall, then collapsed into the blacksmith's arms. Climbing cautiously down the ladder, the blacksmith passed her to the two men waiting below.

Lizzy tried to shout but no sound came from her mouth. She waved her arm feebly. The men saw her. The blacksmith tried to move the water butt, but it was beyond his strength. Several villagers raced forward to empty it with their buckets. From the corner of her eye, Lizzy saw something large and black flit across the yard at speed. She thought at first it was a crow or bat disturbed by the tumult, before deliriously deciding it was too large. Suddenly Mr Darcy was at the window. He straddled the sill and put his arms around her.

 _"Mar..iii...ah!"_ Elizabeth managed to croak, trying to push him away.

Instantly, Darcy disappeared into the smoke which was becoming thicker. He emerged with Mariah, sliding past Lizzy to crouch on the windowsill before jumping directly to the ground. Passing the stricken girl to the blacksmith, Darcy ran away from the house to turn and leap at the window again. But when he arrived there, Elizabeth had disappeared and there was only Misty howling piteously on the sill. Darcy brushed the cat aside to step into the room. Falling to his knees, he swung desperately with arms, trying to find Elizabeth. His second cast was successful. Gathering the crumpled body, Darcy emerged from the window, reoriented Elizabeth in his arms and leaped. A cheer erupted from the crowd. The blacksmith stepped forward to relieve the gentleman of his burden.

Darcy sidestepped and ran off into the night.


	31. Touch and go

**I would describe Wickham in this story not so much as dastardly but as a committed narcissist. He doesn't necessarily set out to injure people, but the world revolves about him. I'm sure he would have excused Elizabeth's injuries as collateral damage, although he would not have used such a succinct term since it was coined during the war in Vietnam in 1961.**

 **I decided to delay Darcy's revelations regarding Wickham and Georgie until now so I have slightly rewritten chapter 25.**

 **Suggestions for the title of Chapter 30 were:**

 **"Recollections and rescues" or "The Cat, the Bat (or the Vampire) and the Lady in a fire tale" by _Laure Saintyves,_**

 **"Stupidity, Bravery, Love, Loyalty" by _Deanna27_ ,**

 **"The things we do for love" or "Smoke gets in your eyes" by _suddenlysingle_ ,**

 **"Burning Flames" "Love and affection versus lies and deception" or "Leaps and bounds" by _Chica De Los Ojas Cafe,_**

 **"Catwoman and Batman" by _beaty_ ,**

 **"Darcy to the Rescue" (a take on Thunderbird's to the Rescue) or "Fire Starter" by _JAFan1995_ ,**

 **"Wickham's Wrath" by _Dizzy Lizzy.60,_**

 **"The Dark Knight" by _amamama_ ,**

 **"Revelations and Rescues" by _anita1788_ ,**

 **"It's a bird, it's a plane, no it's Darcy!" by _RebeccaT9000_ ,**

 **LOL, _beaty_! That's the most hilarious suggestion yet! **

**Love the double entendre and pop culture of "The Dark Knight" by _amamama_. TDK it is!**

* * *

 **Chapter 31**

For how long Darcy ran, he knew not. He came to his senses near the lake, but whether he had gone there directly or by some circuitous route, he could not remember. He cursed himself for a fool and dropped to his knees with his fair burden. Elizabeth was breathing, but her pulse was weak. No doubt she had inhaled much smoke.

Bending over her, Darcy could smell her acrid breath. He placed his lips over hers, sucking in the air; resisting the urge to cough when the rank air filled his lungs. He expelled the air quickly, leaving a charred, burnt taste in his mouth that in no way compared to the smooth residue of a cigarillo—as much as he hated those. Quickly filling his lungs with fresh air, Darcy put his lips once more to Lizzy's and blew. Her eyelids fluttered.

Darcy repeated the process several times, hoping that each breath he drew from her would be fresher, but all he could taste was smoke. With each breath he expelled into her, Darcy prayed she might wake like sleeping beauty, but there was no response. He went on for what seemed an eternity, huffing and puffing, till he was on the edge of despair. He was certain now that he had not changed her during their encounter on the previous night—she would have weathered this disaster better if he had. The insidious thought crept into his mind—should he change her now? Was it already too late to save her that way? Could she pull through unchanged? The weight of the decision seemed almost too much to bear.

At one point a dark spot dropped on Elizabeth's bodice. After a moment of confusion when Darcy thought Elizabeth might have some other injury, he realised he was crying. His tears were blood. Snapping himself from this distracting new development, Darcy felt Elizabeth's pulse, still beating—there was hope. He kept on expelling from her and breathing into her until a crash came from the distance. Looking up briefly, Darcy saw glowing cinders leap into the sky and knew the roof of the parsonage had succumbed to the flames. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Finally Darcy realised he would not have the satisfaction of seeing Elizabeth's eyes open. He looked at his watch. A half-hour had passed since he had started. Her pulse felt stronger. He needed to get her to shelter.

Picking up Elizabeth, Darcy ran on to Rosings. The great front door was open, the servants milling agitatedly about inside in the candlelit gloom. He ran up the steps and into the marbled vestibule.

"A bed for Miss Elizabeth!" Darcy cried before turning to run up the carpeted stairs.

"Sir!" said a footman on the steps, seeing Darcy's blood-streaked face. "You are hurt!"

Darcy had forgotten his tears. "It is nothing. Send a carriage to the parsonage—there are other injured people. And have my mare saddled."

"Yes, sir!" said the footman, but he spoke to air.

Darcy was met by Finn at the top of the stairs.

"You had best bring her to your chamber, sir," said Finn as he led the way, "while another bed is made up. I will ride for the doctor."

"No, Finn," said Darcy. "It will be faster if I go."

Darcy laid Elizabeth down on the covers, realising in the light of the candles that she was covered in a fine layer of soot. With one finger he wiped the tip of her nose, arranged her plait across her partly exposed breast. "She needs fresh air," he said, looking to the window, which already stood open.

"I will see that she is fanned constantly, sir," said Finn, retrieving a fan from a drawer and beginning to ply it next to Elizabeth. "Should I get a vinaigrette?"

"No. Just fresh air. Leave her sleep. But get a maid to wash her. Where is Richard?"

"He rode to the parsonage, sir. A servant alerted him to the blaze."

"Fine. I have sent the carriage. I believe Mr Collins is hurt. Nor will the other ladies have escaped unscathed. They will need to come here. See the rooms are made up for them. I should go."

"Sir! One moment! Your face is covered in blood. Are you hurt? Let me tend to your wounds before you leave."

Darcy poured some water from the ewer. "No, I am fine," he said, wiping his face with a fresh cloth that stood ready. "They are tears."

He checked the less than perfect result in the mirror. " I suppose I should not scare the doctor," Darcy said, having another go.

Satisfied with a second swipe, Darcy leapt to the sill of the window.

"Sir, the stairs!" said Finn. "There are so many people about!"

But Darcy was gone.

Outside, Darcy hesitated near the stables, thinking he would be quicker if he did not take his mare, but one of the stable boys had seen him approaching.

"Here she is, sir. Ready to go!" the boy said, leading the mare out.

Darcy could only thank him and vault into the saddle. Sensing his urgency, the mare took off immediately, without him having to touch her flank. But Darcy only rode her as far the main gates before reining her in and tying her in a thicket just outside. He then set off cross-country to Barnstead, where Lady Catherine's physician resided, the best country doctor for miles. Halfway there, the storm broke. The rain began teeming down.

When Darcy found the doctor about to climb into his tilbury* in the midst of the downpour, he feared he might have been called out to some other emergency.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam sent one of the village boys on his horse," the doctor yelled in explanation. "The boy said the parsonage is burnt to the ground. Is it really that bad?"

"I hardly know," replied Darcy. "It was still burning when I took the last of the residents to escape up to Rosings. She was suffering terribly from the smoke."

"Where is your horse? Can I give you a lift?"

"I left her at the other end of the village, not remembering exactly which house was yours."

Rather than explain further, Darcy accepted the doctor's offer and climbed into the carriage. By the time they reached the end of the street, the rain had slackened to a steady downpour. Despite no horse being apparent, Darcy slipped away into the night, saying that he had merely dropped the mare's reins in his hurry and assuring the doctor she would not have wandered far.

They set off on their separate paths to Rosings. Returning cross-country, Darcy diverted once more to the parsonage to see if any further help was needed there. The rain had lessened to a drizzle when he arrived. He found the smouldering ruins deserted. The roof was completely gone and part of the brick wall of the upper storey had collapsed outwards.

Viewing the destruction, Darcy's mind slid from the immediate to review the night and encountered an awful thought. After his nightly rounds of the estate and the village, Darcy had waited patiently for Wickham at the hut for well over an hour after the appointed rendezvous time. While Wickham was notoriously unreliable, Darcy had thought his failure to appear unusual given there was money to be dispensed. The spare £100 Finn generally carried for emergencies still resided in Darcy's waistcoat pocket. Abandoning the hut shortly after one in the morning, Darcy had been alerted to the situation at the parsonage by the glow in the night sky. Suddenly Wickham's non-appearance took on a new and sinister aspect. Wickham knew something of Darcy's relationship with Elizabeth. He had made vague threats against Rosings' tenants as part of a plot to expose Darcy... But how would burning down the parsonage advance George's interests? And why?—when Darcy had agreed to meet George with the money, albeit not the specified sum of £500. Could George have cavilled at not receiving the full sum he had demanded?

A faint lightening of the sky heralded dawn as Darcy began to walk around the parsonage. The damage to the back of the house was great—the entire south wall collapsed. It looked as if the fire had started in the kitchen—not exactly suspicious. He hoped no servant was unaccounted for.

Darcy climbed over the still hot rubble of the back wall and froze with horror. A charred body lay there, partly covered by rubble, its arm outstretched. In the hand was clasped something. Darcy bent down to prise it loose and immediately recognised the pocket watch his father had given to Wickham.

* * *

Darcy arrived back at Rosings a half-hour after dawn on his mare, doubled over and almost incoherent with pain. Fortunately once he had mounted the horse near the front gates, she had galloped straight for her stable. In the blessed dimness of the stables he slid from her back to collapse into the straw of her loose box.

"Are you all right, sir?" came a voice from nearby.

Darcy couldn't open his eyes. "One of my migraines," he whispered. "Please to get Mr Finn."

"Yes, sir! Right away, sir!" replied the voice, all too loudly.

Darcy had recovered somewhat by the time Finn arrived with his dark glasses, hat and umbrella. Together they covered the short distance to the back door under the shade of the young oaks. Once Darcy had stepped into the blessed gloom of the servants' hall, Finn hesitated on the doorstep to collapse the umbrella.

"How does she fare?" asked Darcy.

"The doctor is concerned about her lungs. He says there is inflammation. Indeed, I observed her skin acquire a bluish cast after you left, sir. The doctor agreed with opening the windows. He has some maids blowing both Miss Elizabeth and Miss Mariah with bellows. We have moved them to the Green room of the guest wing. Where is your coat, sir?" Finn added in puzzlement.

"Is the doctor still here?"

"He says he has done all he can and it is now in God's hands. He is taking some rest in the Yellow room."

"Take me to her, Finn," said Darcy in agitation.

They arrived in the room to find Anne working the bellows over Elizabeth, dressed in a plain day gown, her hair uncurled and tied back in a simple bun.

"Miss de Bourgh!" said Finn, attempting to take the bellows from her grasp.

"It is all right, Mr Finn. I am taking my turn. I cannot last long but at least it will be enough to give the maids a spell. My maid told me about the parsonage when I woke."

Having reached the bed, Darcy looked down upon Elizabeth's pale face. He grasped her hand. The bases of her fingernails were blue. She was wearing a nightgown adorned with lace which looked like it might belong to his cousin.

"Have you seen Richard?" Darcy asked.

"He is taking a bath." replied Anne. "He came home covered in soot."

"Do you wish to speak with him, sir?" asked Finn.

"Later," said Darcy absently. Unconsciously, he brought Elizabeth's hand to his lips while he thought. "The factitious airs... She needs dephlogisticated* air—what Lavoisier called oxygen. We have the apparatus. Can we make it?"

Darcy looked up to see both Anne and Finn staring at him in consternation.

Finn flicked his eyes in the direction of the two maids attending Mariah. "I hardly know, sir."

Darcy realised his mistake and lowered Elizabeth's hand to the bedclothes, still retaining it in his grasp. "I think we need mercuric oxide. It generates oxygen if exposed to sunlight. The apothecary in Market Emborough should have some. We can put the apparatus there," he said pointing to the window. "If we close the curtains of her bed, that should concentrate the gas in her vicinity. Finn, please ride to the apothecary immediately. I will set up the equipment in your absence."

Within an hour the apparatus was assembled, with the doctor assisting. He had been intrigued by the experiments of Thomas Beddoes at The Pneumatic Institute*, which had been much discussed by the medical fraternity, mostly negatively, but the good doctor retained an open mind. However, the doctor's greatest contribution to forwarding Darcy's project was in assuring Lady Catherine that nothing untoward was occurring in her house when she burst into the room upon discovering the night's events. Lady Catherine looked askance at the uninvited guests in her beds and the strange apparatus her nephew was fussing over. Accompanied by Anne, the good doctor took his patroness off to discuss Mr Collins' case, which was a nasty compound fracture of his right leg.

Finn set the mercuric oxide under a bell jar near the sunny window, with a tube running from a spigot on its side. Having redonned his hat and dark glasses, Darcy demonstrated that a gas was indeed being generated by holding the tube below the water of a ewer and watching the bubbles emerge. A candle was set on a platform in the ewer. When a large bell jar was set over the whole, the candle burned brighter, satisfying Darcy that he was indeed generating oxygen. The ewer was then set on a table inside the curtains. There was nothing to do but wait.

Having left Lady Catherine at Mr Collins' bedside where Charlotte stood vigil, the good doctor returned to assist. Enervated by the bright sunlight streaming in through the window, Darcy retired to his bed, leaving the doctor to supervise their efforts.

On waking two hours later, Darcy found Colonel Fitzwilliam in the room, seated in a fauteuil as he quietly polished his sword.

"Ah! You're awake!" Richard said as Darcy raised himself on his elbow. "I am glad my confidence in you was not misplaced."

"What do you mean?" asked Darcy sleepily.

"I arrived at the parsonage soon after you ran off with Miss Elizabeth. I told the villagers you were taking her straight up to the manor house to fetch the doctor. I gather you didn't bite her on the way, did you?"

Darcy rubbed his forehead. "No. I did tarry a little by the hut where I tried to revive her—her pulse was quite weak. I arrived here soon after and set off for the doctor after relinquishing Elizabeth to Finn's care. How is she?"

"The doctor believes she is coming on famously," said Richard, leading Darcy to relax back onto his pillows.

Pausing and pursing his lips meditatively, Richard ventured: "The villagers seemed much inclined to think you can leap tall buildings in a single bound."

Darcy winced.

"I told them you were a champion athlete at Cambridge," continued Richard. "I managed to convince them that events had made them a little overexcited."

"I was on the rowing team when we beat Oxford," Darcy offered contritely.

"Quite," replied the colonel. "I sent them off to the inn to reward their efforts, instructing the publican to provide two kegs, on me. Firefighting is, after all, thirsty work. Hopefully they will wake up this morning with muddled heads."

"I am sorry. It seemed like it was touch and go*. The smoke was so thick. I could see her choking."

"So you were out roaming the estate when you saw the conflagration?"

Darcy looked at his cousin's penetrating blue eyes. Feeling guilty that he had not apprised Richard of his dealings with Wickham before things had come to such a pass, he sighed. "There is something I need to tell you. Wickham set that blaze."

"What!?" demanded the colonel.

"I was waiting for him at the hut. He accosted me yesterday near dawn, on my return to Rosings. He demanded money to pay his gambling debts."

"Why do you continue to accede to his demands?" asked the colonel incredulously.

"He saw me with Elizabeth."

"How much did he see?"

"Enough to compromise her. He may have seen me bite her."

The colonel covered his face with his hands.

"I denied everything," continued Darcy. "I meant to consult you yesterday to discuss the situation. I was too busy wallowing in self-pity about my failure with Elizabeth when I first spoke to you in the morning. Wickham seemed the least of my troubles. I intended to seek you out again later. After I woke, I discovered you had gone off to Tunbridge Wells with Anne. I wanted to consult you about a commission in the regulars for him. He wanted a captaincy in a Hussar regiment."

"A Hussar regiment! Dammit! He could have killed someone last night! This has gone too far! I'm going to Brighton to challenge him to a duel!"

"Don't bother," said Darcy wearily. "He is dead."

"What!?"

"I went back to the parsonage after I summoned the doctor. I found his body in the smouldering ruins."

"Are you sure?"

Darcy swung his legs down from the bed and opened a drawer to retrieve something from inside. "It is the watch my father gave to him," he said, passing it to the colonel. "George had it in his hand. What was left of his clothing was consistent with a military uniform."

"So you left his body for the parish constable to find?"

"No, it is better if he is not associated with the incident. Let it be an accident. I buried him in my coat. There are no distinguishing marks on it."

"Why cover up for him?"

"Aunt will want an investigation if it is thought to be arson*. If Wickham was identified—and remember, he was known to be travelling between Brighton and London, and will be missed at roll call—it is likely that Aunt will blame Elizabeth or Mrs Collins for the damage to her property."

"Why would she do that?"

"It will not take long to find out that his regiment was recently stationed in Hertfordshire. The connection will come out."

"Ah! So he knew Elizabeth and Mrs Collins?"

"Yes. I just don't understand why he torched the parsonage. I assured him I would get him some money to extract him from his immediate difficulties, but he never turned up to claim it."

Now it was the colonel's turn to be chagrined. "I turfed him out* of the hut yesterday. I found him there when I went fishing."

"What time was this?"

"Not long after I spoke to you in the morning. He was having a kip in the hut."

"He must have thought I set you on to him."

"Possibly. I am sorry if I upset the apple cart*, and for not mentioning the incident earlier, which might have set you on your guard. Spending the day with Anne at Tunbridge Wells pushed the incident out of my mind."

"How did Aunt ever allow that excursion to occur?"

"Anne goes there to the circulating Iibrary often. Aunt could hardly disapprove of my escort or ask you to accompany Anne with your headaches. It was a fine day. Anne took the phaeton. I rode my horse until we were out of the park, then paid off the groom to let me take his place. The footmen also."

"Well I am glad you enjoyed yourself, but that is why I said nothing. You arrived back only just in time to dress for dinner. I fed early, then intended to seek you out after returning to the house at midnight. I resolved to tell George I was still looking into it but he never showed up."

The colonel sighed. "Yesterday was certainly an eventful day. Let us count our blessings. Everyone escaped from the parsonage but the perpetrator. Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say. What a bloodsucker! He was never going to stop leeching upon you!"

Darcy looked at his cousin reproachfully.

"Ah! I beg your pardon for my careless choice of words. So he is six feet under, hey?"

"Not quite. I did not have much time. I will go back tonight and bury him deeper. It would not do if he was disturbed by animals."

"You had better dispose of that watch too."

"I will. I merely wanted to show it to you."

"Why bother?"

Still in his nightshirt, Darcy sat down in the fauteuil opposite Richard. "There is something more that perhaps I should have told you earlier," he sighed. "Wickham abducted Georgie from Ramsgate last summer."

"What!?"

"He convinced her to elope with him. They got as far as London."

"Dammit, Darcy! I am joint guardian! Why wasn't I told?"

"You were in France, Richard."

"I should have at least been apprised of what occurred. So what happened when you caught up with them?"

"George would not open the door. When I climbed up to the window... He was armed with a pistol. When I told you earlier that I had survived a mortal wound, that was when it occurred."

"My God! He shot you? He killed you?"

"I do not think it was his intention to kill me. I lost my temper. I flew at him like a demon. I was not killed instantly but it was very bad. I do not remember much of what happened afterwards. He fled. That alone shows that things got out of hand. Georgie and the landlord somehow got me into a hackney. There was blood everywhere—all over me, over Georgie. As I told you, it was a stomach wound. The doctor told your father that I would likely die a slow death."

"My God! My God! And was nothing done to hunt him down?"

"Your father had his men searching for him for weeks."

"So he joined the militia to evade them?"

"Possibly. I do not know. My mind was on my own problems. I fled to Bedfordshire with Finn, to hide my quick recovery from your parents and the servants in the townhouse."

"And Georgie? Wickham did not touch her?"

Darcy looked away. "That I cannot tell you. The state I found them in... The taunts he threw at me... We thought at first she might be with child."

"My God!" roared the colonel, jumping up and slamming his palm into the mantelpiece. "Why wasn't I told!? You, almost killed, and Georgie knocked up. I would have drawn and quartered that bastard!"

"Your father would happily have done that in your absence had he found him. We felt there was no use in perturbing you when you were busy on the Continent. It is clear now that Georgie is not with child. It is possible that George hardly touched her but only boasted that he had, for obvious reasons. It appears that Georgie is a little irregular in her menses."

The colonel collapsed into his chair again, staring at the ceiling. Finally, his eyes lowered and he shook his head. "The day your father agreed to care of that serpent was a dark day for the Darcys. I will come with you tonight when you rebury Wickham. I want to stomp on his grave."

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*Sleeping Beauty was originally published as La Belle au bois dormant by Charles Perrault in Histoires ou contes du temps passé in 1697. The tale was a reworking of Sun, Moon, and Talia by Italian poet Giambattista Basile (published posthumously in 1634). Both stories were likely based on two distinct folk tales. The first half of the story corresponds to the modern version, ending when the prince wakes sleeping beauty. It was published as Little Briar Rose in 1812 by the Grimm Brothers.

*tilbury—a fancy gig named after its inventor.

*spell—1620s, "a turn of work in place of another," from spell (v.2); compare Old English gespelia "a substitute"

*dephlogisticated air - Priestley discovered that air is not an elementary substance, but a composition, or mixture, of gases. He identified one component—dephlogisticated air—as the gas that supported combustion and was given off by plants when exposed to sunlight. The clumsy name derives from phlogiston theory, a superseded theory of combustion that was eventually replaced by the molecular framework of modern chemistry, with major contributions made during the Regency period by Davy, Dalton and Avogadro, based on foundations laid by Priestley's contemporary, Lavoisier, who was guillotined during the French Revolution because of his day job as a tax collector.

The phlogiston theory—which Priestley adhered to despite providing the cracks that eventually caused its abandonment—stated that all combustible materials are made of two parts. One part, called phlogiston, was given off when the substance containing it was burned, while the dephlogisticated part, thought to be its true form or calx, was left behind. Highly combustible materials that leave little residue, such as wood or coal, were thought to be made mostly of phlogiston; non-combustible substances that corrode, such as iron, contained very little. Lavoisier realised that burning substances did not give off phlogiston, instead they took on Priestley's gas, 'antiphlogiston', or 'dephlogisticated air' as Preistley called it. ie they used or fed on the oxygen.

*Thomas Beddoes wrote Considerations on the medicinal use of factitious airs with James Watt (he of the steam engine) in 1794. Beddoes mentored Humphrey Davy who had trained as an apothecary, employing him at The Pneumatic Institute, a hospital Beddoes founded in Bristol to treat patients with factitious airs. His protégé eclipsed him in fame. Beddoes eventually succeeded Davy as president of the Royal Society.

*touch and go — a risky, precarious or delicate case or state of things, such that the slightest change could prove disastrous.

*arson—late 17th century: an Anglo-Norman French legal term, from medieval Latin arsio(n- ), from Latin ardere 'to burn'.

*turf out—to throw out, eject. Presumably onto grass.

*upset the apple cart—spoil a plan or disturb the status quo.


	32. Every breath you take

**Well, here is chapter 32, finally.** **Wrapping up a story is always more difficult than starting it. Still, it was an especially difficult chapter to write. Thanks to those who gave encouragement.**

 **Suggestions for the title of chapter 31 were:**

 **"Sleeping Beauty" or "Every breath you take" (beautyful lyrics for this classic of Police, BTW) or "You take my breath away" by _Laure Saintyves,_**

 **"Mouth to Mouth, Heart to Heart" by** ** _Deanna27_** **,**

 **"Weird Science", "Smouldering Ashes" by** ** _Sacredwoman2K_** **,**

 **"Smoked" by _Dizzy Lizzy.60,_**

 **"The Kiss of Life" by** ** _Chica De Los Ojas Cafe,_**

 **"Bubble, Bubble, Toil and Trouble" by** ** _Lee3619_** **,**

 **"Huffing and Puffing" by** ** _Windchimed_** **,**

 **"Discoveries", "Breath of Life", "(Bloody) Tears" by** ** _beaty_** **,**

 **"Taking Her Breath Away", "Getting Some Air", "Inhale/Exhale", "In With the Good", "Out With the Bad", "A Little Blue", "Just Breathe", "Breathe" (For long you live and high you fly And smiles you'll give and tears you'll cry -Pink Floyd seems so Darcy) by** ** _amamama_** **.**

 **So many good ones. It was hard to choose. I thought of "Blood, sweat and tears" based on your titles,** ** _beaty_** **. Ultimately I decided to go with "Touch and Go" inspired by** ** _Chica_** **.**

* * *

 **Chapter 32**

 _ **Synopsis** : Darcy rescues Elizabeth from the parsonage fire and uses his knowledge of factitious airs to help Dr Grantley with her treatment. When inspecting the destroyed parsonage afterwards he finds a body he identifies as Wickham in the kitchen where the fire started. Exchanging stories with Colonel Fitzwilliam, Darcy realises that Wickham believed Darcy had double-crossed him._

The following day was one of anxiety for Darcy. Upon waking after two hours' sleep, he immediately repaired to the Green Room as soon as Finn had tied his cravat. Despite the doctor's assurances that Elizabeth was 'getting on famously', Darcy was grieved to find her still unconscious. Mariah had apparently woken briefly in his absence and, having been reassured that she was safe, fallen back to sleep. Darcy was also perturbed to discover the doctor had shifted the oxygen tube from Elizabeth's to Mariah's bed, claiming the cyanosis had diminished in Miss Elizabeth's fingernails and citing concerns that too much oxygen might exacerbate the inflammation in her lungs.

"I drove back to my house to retrieve Beddoes' book while you were resting," said the doctor, reaching for two volumes that lay on the night table and handing them to Darcy. "Also another by Cavallo.* I believe it is important to not give too much oxygen."

Reminding himself that it was not yet twenty-four hours since he had rescued Elizabeth, Darcy tried to calm his inner panic. Instead, he encouraged Doctor Grantley to check Elizabeth's nails again, upon which the physician reluctantly admitted that they had reverted from the healthy pink he had previously observed to a shade of purple. They agreed to compromise on the care of both patients by bringing the beds together so that the curtains encompassed one volume that could be fed by the single oxygen tube. Before Grantley could summon the servants, Darcy had already pushed Mariah's elaborately carved oaken four poster bed against Elizabeth's, causing the doctor to raise an eyebrow.

"Well! It is very nice to be young and strong!" remarked Grantley.

Darcy feigned overexertion by belatedly rubbing his shoulder, reminding himself that he needed to rein in his chivalry in public view. But his thoughts immediately reverted to Elizabeth. Darcy was now worried that the single source of oxygen would not be enough for both beds.

"My aunt has some potted plants in the breakfast parlour," he told Grantley. "They also exude oxygen when the sun shines on them. I will fetch them and set up a second apparatus. I will also need to replenish the mercuric oxide under the bell jar as it becomes exhausted. We will need to watch the rate at which the bubbles are produced."

An hour later, Darcy had transported enough plants from the parlour and about the manor house for Finn to assemble a veritable hothouse in the second bedchamber window. As he lowered the second oxygen tube into the ewer of water, Darcy was also able to congratulate himself on providing an excuse to legitimately check on Elizabeth at regular intervals as he tended the apparatus. Darcy continued to do this throughout the day, each time lamenting to find Elizabeth still asleep. He could only console himself with the fact that her nails were less blue. It was during one of these visits in the late afternoon, as he was shifting the table bearing the plants to catch the last of the sun, that Mrs Collins entered the bedchamber with a covered basket.

In the morning, Charlotte had gone with Lady Catherine in her barouche to survey the damage to the parsonage. Based on her inspection, Darcy's aunt de Bourgh had announced over luncheon that she thought the cottage walls could be patched and the roof replaced. As it was Darcy's firm opinion that the parsonage would have to be rebuilt from the ground up, he had politely demurred. Immediately afterwards he had sent off a letter to the Society of Civil Engineers* in anticipation of a full-scale disagreement with his aunt on the subject. In it, he requested the opinion of the learned society and offered to host and pay the costs of whichever members cared to come to Kent to venture their opinion. Charlotte had not been present at the table during the exchange, having apparently stayed on in the afternoon to sift through the debris of her former home with her maid.

Having returned from her sad task, Charlotte greeted Darcy sombrely as she approached the beds.

"I suppose Miss Elizabeth's family should be apprised of her accident," ventured Darcy as Finn stepped in to finish rearranging the plants on the table.

"It is already done," replied Charlotte. "I judged it best to write to her aunt Gardiner first thing this morning. Living in London, the Gardiners are closer than her parents and better able to respond." She did not add that Mrs Bennet would likely have a fit of hysterics in response to the news before declaring herself unable to travel, but Charlotte's knowledge of the Bennet family had certainly informed her actions. "I expect Mr Gardiner will come immediately. I have also written to my father in Hertfordshire requesting his assistance in helping me find new lodgings while the parsonage is repaired. I asked him to apprise the Bennets of the fire in person and to make an offer to act on their behalf in assisting Mr Gardiner. I have reserved both rooms at the inn in Hunsford from tonight, though my father may be delayed until tomorrow."

"Mrs Collins, if my aunt has not already suggested that you continue to stay at Rosings while more permanent arrangements are made, I am sure she will do so," said Darcy, determined his aunt Catherine should show more charity. "And surely the village inn is too rough for gentle company? More of the guest rooms can be made ready here at Rosings. I will square* it with my aunt."

"Thank you, Mr Darcy, but I fear we have imposed on Lady Catherine too much already. She was much inclined to think that my household management was at fault for the fire. It was all I could do to dissuade her from turning off the maid."

Darcy did not argue further, mentally noting that the engineers might be housed at the inn or the publican compensated directly. He sighed. "In extremity, it is always my aunt's first action to assign blame," he assured Mrs Collins, "even when succour is immediately required. We must distract her with the details of repair. I expect the parsonage must be rebuilt entirely and have sought advice from London. In the meantime, I am thinking it is time for the parson at Failford to retire—I am sure Mr Ottley has been wishing to do so for some time. In the circumstances, my aunt must see it is a very sensible option. A pension would enable him to move to Tunbridge Wells, allowing you to occupy his parsonage while Hunsford is rebuilt. It is not as comfortable an establishment, but I hope it will suffice."

"We would be most grateful, Mr Darcy," replied Charlotte, knowing her husband would not be dissatisfied with an arrangement that forwarded his plan of acquiring the additional living.

Not expecting charity from Lady Catherine's nephew who she had always found very standoffish, Charlotte bit back a tear. Suddenly the full force of last night's ordeal and its aftermath rushed in on her. She turned her face towards the bed to hide her emotion, and quickly parted the curtains to grasp her friend's arm as if offering succour when in fact it was she who sought it. In response, Elizabeth's eyes flickered open.

Darcy instinctively started forward but quickly corrected himself from racing to Elizabeth's side. Despite his feelings for Miss Bennet, Darcy realised he had no rights over her and must defer to her friend's superior claims at such a moment. It was difficult to believe he had been so intimate with her last night due to the fire; so much harder to relinquish her now. Darcy inserted himself into the curtains but withdrew to the end of the bed where he occupied himself by examining the gas bubbling through the water, all the time wishing that it had been for him that Elizabeth had opened her eyes. His chest heaved.

"Elizabeth!" breathed Charlotte with relief.

"Charlotte!" wheezed Lizzy.

"Oh, Lizzy! I am so glad you are awake! I could never have forgiven myself if something had happened to you while you were staying with me!" said Charlotte, squeezing her friend's hand.

Lizzy smiled weakly and gave a slight shake of her head. "Mariah?"

"Beside you. She woke a few hours earlier. Mr Darcy rescued her also," said Charlotte, directing a grateful glance at the reluctant hero.

Darcy, who had withdrawn his watch from his waistcoat to count the number of bubbles per minute exiting from the gas tube, looked up upon hearing his name, intercepted Charlotte's beaming smile and blushed furiously behind his dark glasses—the effect all the more noticeable on his pale face.

Lizzy, who had directed her gaze towards Mr Darcy upon Charlotte's encomium, blushed also, although she was at a loss to understand exactly why. Her interactions with him over the past two days seemed like some sort of bizarre dream: his marriage proposal; his shocking revelation that he was a vampire and his subsequent attack in its aftermath, the kittens by the pier. Had he really also rescued her from the fire? Yes, she had a vague memory of him jumping to the window. Embarrassed at her reaction, Lizzy quickly turned her gaze back to Charlotte. "I do not remember much," she whispered. "Misty woke me. Is there a scratch on my face?"

"A small one, just under your jaw. The doctor was more puzzled by the marks on your arm. I thought perhaps you might have injured yourself on the catch on the window when you climbed out, or possibly some broken glass?"

Darcy and Lizzy both blushed again and dared not look at each other.

"I cannot remember," said Lizzy softly.

"The oxygen seems to be fine, Mrs Collins," said Darcy, noting down his calculation of the gas flow on a ivory tablet he had withdrawn from his pocket. "If you could just pull the curtain around you to keep the oxygen concentrated in the bed area, I will go off."

"Thank you, Mr Darcy," said Charlotte, drawing a chair up beside Lizzy's bed and pulling the curtain around her as requested after Darcy had stepped out of it.

"Did you manage to save anything, Charlotte?" rasped Lizzy.

"Not much," said Charlotte. "On first inspection, one china plate and these," she said, setting the basket in her lap on the bed beside Lizzy. She drew back the cover to reveal three kittens.

"Oh, Charlotte! Not the kittens! Did the shed catch alight...?" But before Lizzy could finish, she broke into a paroxysm of coughing.

"No, Lizzy. They are all right," said Charlotte, standing up to pat her friend's back and offering her some barley water. "But I am afraid they are orphans. I found Misty near the shed. She looked quite peaceful. I suppose the smoke must have killed her. The lad from the inn offered to bury her.

"I gave the other kittens away. They could all lap except these three, which were the smallest. I was pleasantly surprised to find the villagers quite eager to take them. They are very pretty kittens and Misty apparently had a reputation as a good mouser. I discovered the grocer had been giving her some milk every day in return for doing the rounds of his shop each morning. He puts some old cheese into a deep tub each night to lure the mice into it. Misty would jump in every morning when he opened his shop to finish off the ones that had fallen into the bottom overnight. Instant breakfast! For the moment, he will have to go back to disposing of the mice himself until his kitten is large enough!"

Having seemingly got her coughing under control, Lizzy wiped a tear from her eye and smiled blearily at her friend's jest, then set off in another paroxysm. Concerned, Charlotte encouraged her friend to lean forward and cough into the handkerchief Miss de Bourgh had left under Lizzy's pillow. Finally the coughing fit was productive. The sputum was an ugly grey.

Lying back on the pillow, Lizzy closed her eyes in exhaustion while Charlotte stroked her hair. Some footsteps heralded the arrival of a visitor and Miss de Bourgh's face peeped between the slit in the curtains.

"Do you need some more handkerchiefs?" Anne asked. "My maid just finished stitching these," she said, handing Charlotte a pile of neatly folded plain cambric.

"Thank you," said Charlotte, taking a fresh one from the top of the pile to give to Lizzy and pushing the others into the drawer of the commode supporting the ewer.

"I put a pail under the bed for the used ones," said Anne, looking at Elizabeth sympathetically.

Her eyes fell upon the basket on the bed. "Oh! What pretty kittens! Two tortoiseshells and a tabbie! They are sure to cheer you up, Miss Elizabeth! Where did you get them, Mrs Collins?"

The sad tale of the orphans was related by Charlotte while Miss de Bourgh stroked one of the kittens, which had started mewling piteously, as if for dramatic effect.

"Oh! Are woo hungry?" Anne asked it in a sing-song voice. "Wait one moment!"

Without another word Miss de Bourgh was off, causing Charlotte to glance wondrously at Elizabeth. She had never seen Anne so animated. Charlotte sat down at the bedside. She continued to stroke Lizzy's hair while her friend coughed occasionally, advising her not to exert himself further by speaking. Lizzy subsided gratefully while Charlotte related the events of the night from her perspective.

Soon Anne returned, bearing a cup of milk and a strip of muslin. Taking the basket from Charlotte, Anne settled into a fauteuil near the swept hearth where she carefully nursed the kittens using the milk-soaked muslin as a teat. After two more coughing fits, Lizzy soon closed her eyes in exhaustion. Judging sleep to be the best remedy for her friend, Charlotte closed the curtains and withdrew from the bedside to help attend to the kittens while keeping an ear out, should Lizzy or Mariah need assistance.

Having drunk its fill, Anne returned the last sleepy kitten to the basket. Charlotte then looked on in amazement as Anne covered the three kittens with an expensive-looking white fur muff.

"Is that an ermine muff?" squeaked Charlotte in disbelief, thinking Miss de Bourgh could surely not be using a garment that must have cost a hundred guineas as a cat warmer.

"Yes!" smiled Anne. "Is it not horrible? I hate the little black-tipped tails—so gothic! To think of all the poor little ermines who died to create it! But now it has a proper use—the kittens will believe it is their mother!"

Thinking that Miss de Bourgh could not know that weasels are rather vicious animals despite their pretty white winter coat, Charlotte could only nod to agree. Bemused, Mrs Collins returned to the patients, refilling their glasses, summoning the maid to replenish the jug with barley water, and listening to Mariah's breathing.

But Charlotte was, of course, soon called to attend to her husband who was bedfast with his leg in splints. Mr Collins had tired of juggling the several volumes Lady Catherine had loaned to him to compose his next sermon. Fully expecting her parson to do his duties on the following Sunday. Lady Catherine had been quite aghast when Dr Grantley had explained that the rector would be confined to his bed for at least three weeks. She soon relented when the good doctor explained the consequences of the clergyman rising from his bed too early—the likely loss of his leg. Lady Catherine had a hatred of deformity. Nonetheless, the doctor had no objection to the parson composing a sermon for the curate to deliver, for Mr Collins was otherwise well. Mrs Collins was thus pressed to read Lady Catherine's bookmarked passages so the rector might suitably arrange them.

As Charlotte had related to Lizzy, she and Mr Collins had been lucky to suffer little from the smoke, thanks to Charlotte's early intervention in stuffing the sheets around the door when she found the hallway already impassable. She had quietly joked that her husband had been instrumental in saving her for, due to Mr Collin's snoring, Charlotte had not long been asleep when a noise downstairs had alerted her to the blaze. On her part, Charlotte had only suffered some grazes and bruises when she had fallen against the brick wall while being rescued by the blacksmith. Had her husband not panicked, she thought it likely that both of them would have escaped largely unscathed.

It was with some regret that Charlotte passed the baton of tending her injured visitors to wait upon her husband. Mr Collins had been quite fussy and pathetic while suffering from the single cold he had contracted since their marriage. Charlotte was not looking forward to nursing him for over three weeks, particularly when she could see how ill Lizzy and Mariah were, all because she had sought the solace of their company in preference to that of her new husband. Furthermore, although Miss de Bourgh had surprised her with her enthusiasm to nurse the patients, Charlotte knew Anne to be completely inexperienced—Lady Catherine was never ill and Mrs Jenkinson never dared to be.

Charlotte managed to poke her head into the Green Room several times during the afternoon. She invariably found Anne there reading a book, sometimes aloud, which surprised her, for Charlotte wondered that Lady Catherine should allow her daughter to wait upon those who were beneath her. Once, towards the evening, Charlotte found Colonel Fitzwilliam there also and thought she had caught him stroking Miss de Bourgh's hand in a rather intimate way. Lord! She wondered if Anne's mother knew about that! Lady Catherine had certainly made no secret of her expectations for Anne and Mr Darcy, bringing the two grand estates of Pemberley and Rosings together through marriage—the jewels in the north and the south! As far as Charlotte knew, Colonel Fitzwilliam, as the earl's second son, had few expectations and was largely expected to live on his army pay.

Surprisingly, or so Charlotte thought at first, Mr Darcy had also been present. The glance he had exchanged with Colonel Fitzwilliam, when the colonel rapidly relinquished Miss de Bourgh's hand upon Charlotte's entrance, suggested he was completely au fait with developments. In that moment of enlightenment, Charlotte also realised something else—that Mr Darcy had also often been present when she had visited the Green Room throughout the afternoon. She wondered that she had not remarked upon it before. Despite his imposing physique, he had a bizarre way of almost blending in with the woodwork. He had been constantly tinkering with the apparatus he had built to help the patients breathe more easily. Charlotte was a little unsure of his 'invisible gases'. Were it not for the bubbles emanating from the tubes in the ewer, she would have doubted their very existence. But Doctor Grantley seemed to approve of them, as Charlotte had discovered on overhearing a very learned conversation on the topic between the two.

"What are you reading, Miss de Bourgh?" asked Charlotte, more to gloss over her discovery of the lovers than out of any pressing need to know. Anne always shared her best novels with her.

"Oh, it is the most delicious romp!" returned Anne in a hushed voice so as to not wake Mariah who had just fallen asleep. "I got it via my aunt Fitzwilliam. It is not in general publication but circulating privately through the drawing rooms in London. It is called Glenarvon and written by Lady Caroline Lamb. I have been reading the best bits to Elizabeth when she is awake. It is a roman à clef*. Colonel Fitzwilliam has been helping me work out who everyone is. Fancy! There is a vampire in it called Lord Ruthven who is actually Lord Byron!"

Charlotte intercepted another inscrutable look pass between the colonel and Mr Darcy.

"Just don't let Aunt get wind of it, Anne," said the colonel. "From what you have told me so far, she will be most scandalised and I will be in trouble for passing it on."

The colonel bid his cousins good day, saying he would go back to keeping his aunt at bay and winking at Charlotte as he left.

All the late afternoon and early evening, spent mostly in the dreary company of her husband, Charlotte was constantly on the alert for the sound of a carriage, hoping that either the Gardiners or her father would arrive. But when the sun set without their advent, Charlotte realised something must have delayed them. When Miss de Bourgh was finally forced from the sick room by her mother's demands that she dress for dinner, Charlotte gladly volunteered to take Anne's place in the Green Room, praising her husband for his indefatigable work on the sermon and suggesting he should take a well-earned rest.

Charlotte had not long returned to the Green Room when a servant came in to build up the fire in the hearth for the evening. Soon after Mr Darcy arrived with several sawn-off musket barrels under his arm. These, he explained to her, contained mercuric oxide and were to take the place of the plants, which in the night deprived the room of oxygen rather than generating it. The servant accordingly started removing the greenery from the room. Dr Grantley came in to watch Darcy set up his new apparatus, giving sage advice and wondering aloud what volume of mercuric oxide should be employed to match the output of their daytime apparatus, considering the consuming effect of the fire burning in the hearth. In answer, Darcy pulled an ivory notebook from his waistcoat pocket and fanned it out to a particular leaf.

"I hope my calculations are not too naive," Darcy said, handing the tablet to Dr Grantley so that he might continue with his business. "I have included them in a letter to Mr Humphrey Davy for a second opinion. Keeping the window ajar should help. The night is thankfully not too chill."

The doctor, who was a man of letters rather than figures, nodded sagely in agreement. He was already planning a letter to the College of Physicians* should at least one of the ladies survive.

The gun barrels were propped up on andirons; tubes were attached to their ends and, after a short period when there was some anxiety that something was amiss, Darcy deemed himself satisfied with the output of the new apparatus. The gentlemen were soon after called to dinner.

* * *

Elizabeth woke when the moon came up, expecting to see Misty on the window sill. After a brief moment when her surroundings confused her, Lizzy realised she was at Rosings and that Misty was dead. With a brief prayer for the cat's soul, she lay back on the pillows as the nebulous thoughts in her mind coalesced. The words of Miss de Bourgh's novel still swirled in her head, a strange counterpart to the events of her own life. Lizzy remembered that night at the Meryton assembly, the advent of Mr Darcy in his black clothes, her pronouncement of 'How byronic!" She shuddered at the prescience of that remark. It was not Byron who was Lord Ruthven but Mr Darcy! When a shadow moved near the bed, Lizzy jumped reflexively from fright.

"Do not be afraid," said the shadow, moving into the moonlight. It was Mr Darcy himself.

Lizzy glanced at the servant in the chair by the fireside, who had been sent to watch over them after Charlotte had retired.

"She is asleep," said Darcy.

Another fragment of a previous conversation surfaced in Lizzy's mind. "Is she mesmerised?"

"How do you know of that? Were you awake earlier? Did you see me come into the room?"

"So, she is," concluded Elizabeth. "That night at Longbourn, in the rain, you said something of mesmerism. Then that night at the parsonage when you were near me, I felt heavy. The feeling dissipated as soon as you withdrew."

"Yes, I mesmerised her. She was trying valiantly to stay awake. My aunt assigned her to take Mrs Collin's place after she went to bed. The poor girl had spent all day in the scullery. I will wake her before I go and convince her she has watched all night."

"You can do that?"

"Mostly. With her—almost certainly."

"So you do this to your victims? Mesmerise them?"

"I call them donors. And if it should save them the fright of awareness, where is the harm in it?"

Elizabeth opened her mouth to reply but no words were forthcoming. She merely shook her head slowly.

"Do not get me wrong," interjected Darcy. "I did not bite her. It would be dangerous, foolish to prey on the house servants. She merely needed the rest and I wanted to be alone with you," he said as he his eyes flicked quickly to Mariah, lying in the adjacent bed not five feet away.

"Mariah?" gasped Lizzy, suddenly overcome with a paroxysm of coughing.

She felt a professional hand slap her several times on the back. Opening her eyes blearily, Elizabeth saw a fresh handkerchief thrust under her nose. When she took it, Darcy stepped back quickly. After she had coughed the vile sputum into the handkerchief, Lizzy subsided gratefully onto her pillow. She opened her eyes to see Darcy toss the handkerchief under the bed and pull a fresh one from the drawer.

"Do not talk. It will just set you off again. Mariah is merely asleep. Do not worry. I am sated. I just came to watch over you. Know that you are safe. I did not harm you when I might have—after we fled from the flames—but I will keep a bit of distance between us, just to be safe. I will sit here and read Lady Lamb's book about vampires to amuse myself. I can read it aloud if you like?"

Lizzy gave a weak smile and shook her head.

"Sleep," said Darcy.

Thankful, Elizabeth closed her eyes.

Soon her chest began to rise and fall in sleep. It was a laboured movement, almost painful to watch. Darcy found himself unwittingly directing his mesmeric powers towards it. As he watched, Darcy realised that he had been feeling so much better about himself since the incident. It was not just his rescue of Elizabeth; every time he walked into the room to check on her he felt it. He realised he had been so caught up in his own survival and with the moderation of his vampiric urges that he'd had little thought for anyone else; had been immersed in his own selfish thoughts. Now he felt part of the fabric of society again. She had made him more human.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*Tiberius Cavallo, An essay on the medicinal properties of factitious airs, 1798.

*Society of Civil Engineers - formed in 1771 by John Smeaton (renamed the Smeatonian Society after his death). At that time, formal engineering in Britain was limited to the military engineers of the Corps of Royal Engineers. Smeaton was responsible for the design of bridges, canals, harbours and lighthouses.

He also pioneered the use of hydraulic lime in concrete, using pebbles and powdered brick as aggregate.

*square it—reconcile it

*College of Physicians—george Edwards the Bedell and his birds

*roman à clef—a work of fiction where the characters are based on real people. Sometimes the key to the characters is published separately.


	33. Beyond the pall

**My** **apologies for the delay in posting this chapter. I am now working longer hours and have less time for writing. Thank you for the kind reviews encouraging me to keep going in my scarce leisure time, and to _alix33_ and _Laure SaintYves_ for spotting errors in the previous chapters. **

**Don't forget you can still read my published stories for free if you have a Kindle Unlimited subscription.**

 **Suggestions for the title of Chapter 32 were:**

 **"Requiem for Misty" or "Bubbles abound" by Deanna27,**

 **"Like a Dream" Or "So Close, Yet So Far" by _Chica de Los Ojas Cafe,_**

 **"More bubbles, less troubles", "The sunny side of a shadow", "Recovery" by _Laure Saintyves,_**

 **"Mistiness" by _Windchimed_ ,**

 **"misty spirit" to honor the cat, or "to tidy up the debris" by _nessy22_ ,**

 **"Bubbles, Cheers and Sleep" by guest,**

 **"Every breath you take" or "Oxygen" by _Anglocelt_ ,**

 **"Breathe for Me" by _a.e.i.520_**

 **I loved "More bubbles, less troubles" by _Laure SaintYves_ , particularly in reference to a previous chapter, and ****"Breathe for Me" by _a.e.i.520._** **I decided to go with "Every breath you take" by _Anglocelt_.**

* * *

 **Chapter 33**

 **Synopsis** _Charlotte tells Elizabeth of Misty's demise._

The next day, Lizzy slept late into the morning. Charlotte watched over her anxiously, in hourly expectation of the Gardiners and her father, who might provide some relief from the anxiety she felt, buffeted by Lady Catherine's dissatisfaction with the state of affairs and her own feelings of guilt for her friend's condition. Charlotte had spent a disturbed night, getting up several times to wait on her uncomfortable husband before losing all patience him before dawn and gaining a respite by giving him an extra large dose of laudanum.

A letter was hand delivered to Rosings around eleven, written on scented paper and addressed to Elizabeth in a childish hand. Charlotte suspected it was from Lydia but was unable to query the courier before he departed. The harassed servant who took the missive, busy with extra duties imposed by the expanded household, could only remember that the courier had been sent from Hunsford village after enquiring for the parsonage. Having not come through the regular post, Charlotte supposed the letter's courier to have been an officer of the —shire militia, on his way to London from Brighton, bent on saving Elizabeth the cost of the postage. Charlotte did not disturb Elizabeth but propped the letter against the jug of barley water on the nightstand.

At eleven o'clock, the sound of a vehicle in the carriage sweep finally alerted Charlotte to the arrival of the expected party. Leaving Miss de Bourgh to watch over the patients, she raced to greet the newcomers on the front steps.

"Father, Jane! How good it is to see you! Mr and Mrs Gardiner, thank you so much for coming!"

"Well, well, my poor dear," said Sir William, hugging his daughter. "All your nice things! It is such a shame! And the Wedgwood jug we gave you as your wedding present, no doubt! We went past the parsonage on our way and it looked very bad!"

"I am afraid so," said Charlotte in guilty affirmation, acutely aware, in the presence of the less well-known Gardiners, of her father's greater concern for the jug than his younger daughter.

"And Lizzy and Mariah?" interpolated Jane.

"Upstairs," said Charlotte, thankful the conversation had taken a proper form. "Dr Grantley, Lady Catherine's own physician, is tending them. Lizzy was sleeping when I came down but Mariah is awake."

The party made their way into the manor house, but were directed first to Lady Catherine in the parlour by a footman. This rather frustrated Mrs Gardiner and Jane when their audience began to draw out, for they were both eager to render Lizzy what assistance they could as soon as possible. But Mr Gardiner employed all his skills in diplomacy in seeking the early release of the ladies. He then sat with Lady Catherine and Sir William for well over half an hour, answering all the dowager's impertinent questions on his circumstances, which queries were interlarded with Sir William's attempts to puff off his own consequence.

Excused from their interrogation by the formidable Lady Catherine, the ladies hurried upstairs with Charlotte. Both patients were now sleeping. After being granted a view of the sickroom, being introduced to Miss de Bourgh—such a contrast to her imperious mother—and taking in the strange apparatus set up by Mr Darcy, the ladies had barely time to lay a hand on Lizzy's brow before Dr Grantley arrived. He removed with them to a corner of the room to discuss the situation in hushed voices.

"I fear both have inhaled a considerable amount of smoke, Mrs Gardiner. Mr Darcy has allayed my immediate concerns with their breathing by setting up an apparatus to deliver factitious airs. Trouble with the respiratory system places great stress on the heart, and survivors of fires can die within the first few days of an apoplexy."

When Jane and Mrs Gardiner looked immediately alarmed, the doctor hurried on. "They are doing remarkably well as a result of our combined interventions, and my major concern now is in the inflammation of the lungs that can accompany the production of phlegm. Both patients have developed productive coughs but as yet there is no indication of fever."

When Dr Grantley departed with Charlotte to check on Mr Collins, Jane sat down at Lizzy's bedside, mindful of Dr Grantley's instructions to keep the curtain closed. Miss de Bourgh retired quietly to near the hearth, looked into a basket she had brought with her to the room, and sat down to read. Upon busying herself by inspecting the contents of the nightstand and tidying the top, Mrs Gardiner found the scented letter, still sealed by a wafer.

"It is from Lydia," said Jane, observing the writing. "It does not look as if it has been opened."

"Indeed? Has Lydia then finally become a diligent correspondent?" asked Mrs Gardiner in surprise.

"No," said Jane. "I can only imagine she has taken the trouble to write because she wants something. Do you think it is possible that she could have run out of money? Mama gave her a huge sum—almost fifty pounds."

"I think you had better open it, my dear. Lizzy is in no case to be worried by Lydia's flights."

"Indeed! And I know Lizzy to have brought only twenty pounds with her, for she did not anticipate the need to expend much beyond what was required for the return journey."

Jane unsealed the letter, began reading, and frowned. Soon she gasped and looked up at her aunt in horror.

"What is it?" whispered Mrs Gardiner urgently, mindful of the sleeping patients and Miss de Bourgh seated by the fireplace.

A dreadful pallor had drained Jane's face of any colour. She could only gasp like a fish. Mrs Gardiner pushed the fresh glass of barley water she had poured for Elizabeth into Jane's hands instead and wrested the missive from her niece's limp grasp.

Wading through a sea of ink blots and misspellings, Mrs Gardiner read:

 _Dear Lizzy,_

 _You will laugh when you hear this! I am to be Mrs Lydia Wickham! I bet you did not think I could catch such a handsome beau, being the youngest in the family! But so it is! George has been ever so attentive to me in Brighton! He is always encouraging me to write to you and now finally I am!_

 _Poor George has been the victim of a sad set of circumstances. He had run up some debts, which he hoped to discharge with some money that Mr Darcy owed him. He went off to London on a commission for Colonel Forster, hoping to set all to rights on his return. Denny chose to accompany him, but went off on some spree of his own during the trip, and poor George was forced to return late and without him, after searching London half the evening!_

 _Colonel Forster flew into such a pelter* when George returned alone, for the colonel is Denny's patron and has some obligation to his mother. He had George locked up for returning late and told him there would be hell to pay* if Denny did not return soon. I felt ever so sorry for George, for when Harriet and I visited him at noon, we discovered they had only given him a little stale bread and bad beer. Harriet went off to fetch him something better to eat. It was then George told me how all his hopes had been dashed by Mr Darcy. He was so low! He had meant to pay off his debts and buy a ring for me!—for his admiration of me has grown in the time we have come to know each other better in Brighton. Thus we decided to flee to Gretna Green!_

 _I got up at midnight and borrowed the colonel's keys. I was ever so worried that Chamberlayne, who had been assigned sentry duty, might not let me see George. But he had fallen asleep, just as George said he would if I poured the rum from George's hip flask into his beer! Unbeknownst to Harriet, I had secretly hired a post-chaise and four after visiting George earlier in the day. George and I stole away to where it was held for us and drove on through the night._

 _We are currently staying at The Mount Edgcumbe in Tunbridge Wells. I bought a beautiful bonnet for the wedding in a delightful shop off The Pantiles* this morning! George was a little upset, for he says that Gretna Green is a long way. He has taken the money I had left over, to see if he can turn it into more at cards. I know you are unlikely to have spent your twenty pounds because there are no decent shops in Hunsford. If you could please forward the money to me here at The Mount Edgcumbe, we can soon be on our way, and the next time you see me I will be a married lady!_

 _Please do not delay! My future happiness depends upon you!_

 _Your loving sister, Lydia_

Mrs Gardiner had no sooner finished the letter than she ran to the window to ascertain if the post-chaise they had hired for the journey had already departed. She cried out with vexation to find that it was gone.

"Is there a problem?" asked Miss de Bourgh, getting up from her seat beside the fire.

"It is nothing," said Mrs Gardiner, mindful of the scandal that was brewing if Lydia could not be retrieved in a timely fashion. Surely the fellow would not be such a cad as to seduce Lydia before the marriage knot was tied? "One of my other nieces was recently staying in Brighton. She has become marooned in Tunbridge Wells on her way home, having lost her purse. Knowing Elizabeth to be staying here, she appealed to her for funds. I had hoped that the post-chaise had not yet departed so that I might send some money with my husband, but unfortunately it has gone back to Bromley."

"It is not a problem," assured Miss de Bourgh. "I travel to The Wells frequently in my phaeton. I can have it hitched for you at a moment's notice."

Mrs Gardiner thanked her heartily but thought it best to first consult with her husband as to her next actions. Fortunately, at that moment, Mr Gardiner and Sir William appeared at the door. While Sir William graciously reacquainted himself with Miss de Bourgh in preface to viewing his daughter, the Gardiners hurried into the hallway to consult.

Not long after, the Gardiners reappeared and, after making the necessary introductions between her husband and Miss de Bourgh, Mrs Gardiner accepted the use of the phaeton on his behalf, seconded by Mr Gardiner's thanks for her generosity.

"You are not going off just after we have arrived, are you?" expostulated a startled Sir William on learning of their plans.

"I fear I must," replied Mr Gardiner. "Lydia has become marooned in Tunbridge Wells on her way home."

"But I thought there was yet a month until the regiment left Brighton," protested Sir William. "She has not had an argument with her young friend, has she?"

"I hardly know," replied Mr Gardiner, careful not to fabricate a story that might require revision in the light of future events. "You will give my apologies to Lady Catherine, but I fear I must set all to rights immediately."

The phaeton was called for, and Mr Gardiner would have set off straight away, if he had not been delayed by Colonel Fitzwilliam. Seeing Miss de Bourgh's vehicle emerge from the carriage house, the colonel naturally assumed she was venturing out, either for a tour of the park or a longer journey, and hurried down from the study to join her. He had been out fishing that morning, as per his usual habit, and missed Anne at breakfast due to her anxiety to check on her patients. Joining Darcy in the study after eating, the colonel had found his cousin poor company, poring over medical books on factitious airs. The colonel was a little disconcerted to find that Anne did not intend to personally use the phaeton. But such was the colonel's wish to temporarily escape the confines of the overcrowded Rosings, where everyone was fixated on the invalids from the parsonage while he found himself a fifth wheel*, that he promptly introduced himself to Mr Gardiner and offered to accompany him to Tunbridge Wells. Because of the scandalous nature of his niece's troubles, Mr Gardiner was loath to accept the colonel's company but found himself unable to politely decline.

When Lizzy awoke in the afternoon, she was initially delighted to find Jane and her aunt at her bedside. But it did not take long for Lizzy to realise something was amiss. When Miss de Bourgh and Mrs Gardiner were called from the room for dinner, Lizzy pressed Jane to unburden herself, refusing to sleep until her sister had done so.

Lizzy's astonishment at her sister's story was great, and in her agitation, she fell into a terrible coughing fit. Jane plied her sister with barley water and was on the verge of recalling her aunt when Lizzy's cough was finally productive and she was able to settle down. Jane pleaded with her sister to be calm, for her own sake.

Lizzy sank back into the pillows to ruminate on the new disaster that had overcome the Bennets, one that threatened to make her own brush with death seem a mere hiccup. She had not discerned the least interest from Lieutenant Wickham toward Lydia in Hertfordshire and could only conclude his exhorting Lydia to write as a means of once more peddling his own version of events. Since talking to Mr Darcy in the hut, Lizzy had become more acquainted with the true circumstances of George's attempted elopement with the much younger Miss Darcy. But she was an heiress! What could George possibly want from Lydia? Lizzy could only conclude that George had taken advantage of Lydia's position as a guest in Colonel Forster's household to flee his immediate embarrassments. It seemed a desperate thing to do, since George, in all probability, would have been released as soon as Denny returned from his jaunt in London. She could only think that George's debts must be very large.

Accompanied by several servants, Finn came in to remove the plants and set the gun barrels filled with mercuric oxide into the hearth while Jane looked on, goggle-eyed.

Mrs Gardiner returned to the Green Room soon after, having excused herself from Lady Catherine's dinner table after the soup was removed from the board. She had whispered her excuses to Charlotte before quietly stealing away as the dowager was interrogating a footman. Under normal circumstances, Lady Catherine would have noticed her attempted departure and not tolerated it, but Colonel Fitzwilliam's failure to present himself at dinner had occupied all the great lady's faculties. When Darcy and Anne both declared themselves ignorant of the colonel's whereabouts, the head footman had been sent in search of Richard Fitzwilliam. Only upon his return, with news from the stables, did Lady Catherine discover that the colonel had gone off with Mr Gardiner in Miss Anne's phaeton, which vehicle had returned before sunset with neither gentleman aboard.

Anne was then obliged to confess her role in the loan of her conveyance. Being loath to divulge the exact nature of their trip, which was sure to draw Lady Catherine's wrath upon her visitors, Anne then suggested the colonel had probably gone off to exchange her library book for her. She thought it likely he had stayed late to enjoy the nightlife at The Wells, sending the phaeton home, for it had no lamps. Lady Catherine then began to catalog the bad habits of her nephew, which—according to her—had been chiefly learnt in the army. Mrs Gardiner had only lingered long enough outside the dining room to ascertain that her husband had not been blamed for the uproar, for she was determined to remove to the inn at Hunsford if it was so, rather than enter further into Lady Catherine's bad books*.

When Mrs Gardiner arrived back in the Green Room to find Lizzy's eyes closed, she gestured for Jane to come away from the bed. In a whisper, she disclosed that the phaeton had returned empty, suggesting that Mr Gardiner, and possibly the colonel, had not yet successfully retrieved Lydia.

Much later, Miss de Bourgh reappeared in the Green Room, apologising for her failure to arrive earlier—her mother had insisted she sit down to play at cards rather than attend the sickroom. Anne revealed she had received a hastily written note from the colonel via her groom as she was dressing for dinner. In it, the colonel disclosed Elizabeth's sister had already departed the inn where she had been staying, though under what circumstances it was not clear. The colonel merely wrote that the landlord, not being present at the time of their departure, was unaware of their direction of travel. The colonel had set off for London on horseback to search for Lydia, for he was acquainted with her travelling companion, and thought he might know her immediate destination. He had encouraged Mr Gardiner to go on to Brighton on the night mail, on the off chance* she had returned there and, failing that, to enquire of Mrs Forster if she had more definite information on Lydia's plans.

Anne did not add that Richard had ended his missive with a cryptic utterance directed at Darcy—'I told you so!' Nor had she yet had a moment alone with Darcy to request an explanation. Darcy had gone off after a mere half-hour at cards with one of his migraines, leaving Anne and her mother to the company of Charlotte and Sir William.

Although Miss de Bourgh had once more arranged for the scullery maid to watch over the patients, Mrs Gardiner was firm in her wish for Jane and herself to take turns tending the patients overnight. Anne had a sofa brought in for their comfort and, after ensuring they had all they needed, bid them goodnight.

Mrs Gardiner encouraged Jane to sleep first, in the guest room that had been set aside for the Gardiners, promising to wake her when the moon rose to switch places.

Thus it was that, near two in the morning, Darcy crept quietly into the Green Room to find Jane dozing on the sofa. Poor Jane, tired from her journey and still rather sleepy after being roused by Mrs Gardiner, had slumped back onto the sofa cushions in an awkward pose that exposed her neck. After snuffing a candle burning on the bedside table to preserve the oxygen near the bed, Darcy walked towards the sofa and bent down to whisper to her. She promptly drew her legs up under her gown, curled into a ball, and with a sigh that released all the tension from her body, fell deeply asleep.

Darcy stared guiltily at her for a moment, for Jane's sigh had contained a single word, 'Charles'. Such pathos had been conveyed in that breath that it had wrung his heart. Darcy had not realised the depth of Miss Bennet's feelings for his friend—so determined had he been in safeguarding Bingley for

the potential match with Georgiana; so eager to ascribe her mother's mercenary motives to the daughter. Embarrassed, he turned away.

Peering between the bed curtains, Darcy was surprised to find Lizzy awake, staring at the canopy, her eyes glittering in the darkness.

"You are awake!" he whispered. "Are you uncomfortable? Is there anything I can get to ease your distress?"

"No, let me suffer. For I certainly deserve it," she replied wanly.

Having never encountered Miss Elizabeth in a morose mood,

Darcy feared her ill health was preying on her sensibilities. "Come now. You must make an effort to keep your spirits up. It will aid your recovery."

"I have been so horrible to you and encouraged him, welcomed him into our house. I have given him every opportunity to be familiar with Lydia, even though he openly admitted eloping with your sister. I was too willing to listen to his fabrications! His distortions! It is all my fault!"

"Elizabeth, be calm. You are rambling."

"I am perfectly sensible. Can it be that you are unaware that George Wickham has run away with my sister?"

Darcy was agitated, convinced that Elizabeth was suffering delusions. It seemed she had entered a new phase of her illness. "Be easy, Elizabeth," he said, taking her hand and stroking it. Overwhelming tenderness welled up within his chest. He was overcome with his own audacity in touching her after his last dreadful error.

"No!" protested Elizabeth, and Darcy attempted to withdraw his hand but she grabbed onto it with both of her own, almost in supplication. "Is it possible that you are not aware that Colonel Fitzwilliam has gone off with my uncle in search of them?"

"Richard merely went to The Wells on a jaunt," Darcy assured her gently. "I was a little surprised that your uncle accompanied him, but gentlemen often find themselves uncomfortable in a sickroom. Rest assured; they have merely taken a book back to the circulating library for Anne, as their excuse for their outing."

"No!" protested Elizabeth weakly. "Is that what Anne told your aunt to cover for them? They are seeking George and my sister! Lydia wrote to me, begging for more money. She asked that I send it to her at The Wells. George has deserted his post. Colonel Foster blamed him for Denny's failure to return with him to Brighton and he has some debts. The colonel wrote a note to Anne saying they could not find them at The Wells. My sister is surely ruined!"

"It is impossible," murmured Darcy, agitated, but unwilling to credit her words.

But the information that George's friend Denny was missing from his regiment chilled his spine, the wave of coldness spreading out like a poison in his veins. Had Darcy not noted the body he had buried to be shorter and slighter than expected, and attributed both to its charred state?

A second wave of coldness crept from Darcy's face across his skin as he turned the pieces of the puzzle over in his mind.

"What was the date on the letter?" he asked.

"I did not see it. My uncle has it now. It arrived sometime late in the morning, before my relatives arrived. I presume Lydia penned it this morning."

"And you say that Richard ascertained it was truly Wickham?"

Lizzy looked at him sternly. "Lydia may be silly, but she is surely capable of identifying the man she has run away with!"

"Forgive me. Did Richard tell Anne of his intentions? I presume he and your uncle have gone off after them."

"Anne merely said Richard was acquainted with her travelling companion and thought he might know their immediate destination in London. You had best consult Anne. I believe there was some uncertainty about the direction they had taken. The colonel and my uncle split up, with Richard going towards London and my uncle back to Brighton. Do you suppose that George would abandon his plans if he found himself short of money? Think better of his rash actions and return her to Brighton?"

Darcy frowned and shook his head meditatively. "He would likely pawn something first."

Reluctantly, he relinquished her hand to consult his watch. As much as he disliked disturbing his cousin in her bedchamber, he feared it must be done. He got up.

"Where are you going?" asked Elizabeth, thinking there was not much he could do so after the fact and unwilling to lose the comfort of his company.

"It is two in the morning. If Richard has indeed gone to London, I should follow him there. If I hurry, I can be in London before daybreak."

With one last parting look, he left her.

Darcy hurried down the hall to his cousin's chamber. It seemed ironic, after warning Richard to obey the forms, that he should now so blatantly abuse them by disturbing her in her chamber. His Aunt would call the wedding banns immediately if she found out. Darcy hesitated outside the door, rehearsing his speech in his mind. He was completely wrong-footed when the door opened of its own accord.

"Oh, it's you," said Anne in a slightly disappointed voice. "I thought Richard might have returned."

Darcy stared. Anne was dressed in a lacy gown, unshielded by a wrap. Her straw-coloured hair spilled over her shoulders. She looked ...almost beautiful. Darcy realised with some chagrin that, in his agitation, he had been stomping about in the hallway as he did by day, not slinking with the preternatural grace that he adopted at night.

"Forgive me," he apologised. "I wanted to talk to you about that. I found out by roundabout means that Richard was not returning a library book in The Wells, but actually on a mission of mercy. What did he say in his note?"

"Ah!" said Anne, remembering Richard's cryptic utterance. She hastily retrieved the note.

Darcy read it with consternation. His heart sank at his cousin's parting jibe—'I told you so!'; it seemed to shrivel to a black coal, the calx*, and lodge, heavy, in his chest, Wickham was still alive.

"What does he mean?" asked Anne. "Do you both know Mrs Gardiner's niece?"

"He is speaking of her companion, George Wickham, the son of Pemberley's former steward. He is an endless source of trouble."

"She is travelling with a man?" asked Anne in consternation, suddenly understanding the situation more fully.

Darcy nodded grimly.

Anne thought for a moment. "Wickham... is he the one who refused the living?"

Darcy was surprised she remembered that event. He got a glimpse of the cloistered life Anne led at Rosings—a life where his yearly visits and every utterance must be inscribed on her memory. "Yes, that one."

Darcy looked at his watch again. The reputation of Miss Elizabeth's sister, and indeed, all the Bennet sisters was in dire peril, and Richard Fitzwilliam, apprised of the Ramsgate debacle, was fully capable of a murder. "I must go help Richard."

"Please stop him from fighting a duel," Anne pleaded.

Darcy looked at her in consternation. He wondered how much she knew, what Richard had told her about Georgie's brush with infamy. He merely nodded, then headed for his chamber. Could he get to London in time?

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*such a pelter — state of great excitement or perturbation, a rage (Sh., Abd. 1965). Also in Eng. dial.; a state of haste, a "tearing hurry".

*hell to pay — dire consequences.

*The Pantiles — an area near the chalybeate spring originally tiled with clay tiles. Although the tiles were replaced with stone tiles in 1793 and the official name of the area changed to 'The Parade', the name continued to be used and was officially re-adopted in 1887.

*Fifth wheel- "superfluous person or thing" attested from 1630s. Online etymology dictionary.

*Bad books - In the Middle Ages 'one's books' was understood to mean 'one's reckoning or cognizance', ie: the esteem in which one was held by others. To be 'out of someone's books' meant you were no longer part of their life and of no interest to them. This meaning is first recorded in The Parlyament of Deuylles, 1509 - "He is out of our bokes, and we out of his". The use of books to indicate favour or disfavour is enshrined in several phrases - 'good books', 'bad books', 'black books'. Phrases-org-uk

*on the off chance - slight possibility. In this context, the less likely of the two choices. If you do something 'on the off chance' it is usually more from wishful thinking than any true likelihood of success.

*calx - the dephlogisticated remnant of a burnt object


	34. The ends justify the means

**Thanks for the corrections again, _alix33_.**

 **Suggestions for the title of Chapter 32 were:**

 **"Foolish, Foolish Girl" by** ** _Deanna27_** **,**

 **"He's At it Again" by** ** _Sacredwoman2K_** **,**

 **"A sickbed, elopement, and a funeral..." by _Chica de Los Ojas Cafe,_**

 **"Beyond the Pall" by** ** _nanciellen_** **,**

 **"Risen from the ash" by** ** _nessy22_** **,**

 **"Crossed signals" by** ** _Dracominor_** **,**

 **"Relations of all sorts" or "NEXT WICKhamED CHAPTER" by guest,**

 **"riding from the ashes". Or "he's alive" by** ** _Anita1788_** **,**

 **"I told you so!", "Like a phoenix", "Colonel on the rescue" by Laure Saint-Yves**

 **Bravo to** ** _nanciellen_** **for the very clever double-entendre of "Beyond the pall"**

* * *

 **Synopsis** : _Finding himself held accountable for Denny's disappearance by the irate Colonel Forster, Wickham enlists Lydia's help to flee the regimental lockup. Upon arriving at Rosings to aid his injured niece Elizabeth, Mr Gardiner soon finds himself on an entirely different mission, sent to intercept the errant pair at Tunbridge Wells, after Lydia sends a letter to Elizabeth begging for funds. Parting company with Colonel Fitzwilliam at Tunbridge Wells once it becomes obvious the couple have fled, Mr Gardiner heads to Brighton while Richard goes off to what he knows to be George's more likely destination: London. Apprised belatedly of developments, Darcy gallops off to London in the night, hoping to reach George before his more belligerent cousin Richard finds him._

 **Chapter 34**

Darcy soon had his mare saddled by a sleepy stablehand and galloped off into the night, leaving Finn to follow in the carriage from Rosings at daybreak. Despite being hours behind Richard and unable to search by day, Darcy still hoped to find George before Richard traced him through his military connections. Darcy knew where George had taken Georgie last year—lodgings not too far from the boarding house run by Mrs Younge's mother. He suspected that George might return to the same place, expecting Darcy to seek him out there after raising the stakes in his latest extortion attempt.

Darcy's mind was still churning with the implications of George's continued existence. It seemed likely the body Darcy had buried was the missing ensign, Denny. Darcy could only suppose that George's devoted young friend had been enlisted to help with Wickham's devious plans. George was clearly an evil influence on impressionable young minds.

On finding the body in the burnt out parsonage, Darcy had originally concluded that the conflagration had been only intended as a threat, but had somehow got out of hand. He supposed that conclusion was still likely—the only difference was that it was the young ensign who had perished, not George as Darcy had originally supposed. Although Darcy thought George had probably not intended any harm to come to the ensign, he also knew George would have no remorse for the young officer's death. If he was even willing to admit Denny had even been in his company—which the watch clearly showed—George would likely blame his friend for stupidity or carelessness. But Darcy would certainly not put it past George to accuse his friend of stealing his watch and acting as an independent agent if the matter should come to trial.

There were still a few things that puzzled Darcy. Why had George returned to Brighton after setting the fire? Having killed his friend, it seemed an audacious thing to do. Did George believe he could disassociate himself from Denny's disappearance? Darcy grimaced, realising he had unwittingly abetted George by quietly burying the body.

Perhaps George had gone back especially for Lydia? Here was an unsettling thought. Having almost ended Elizabeth's life, was it possible that George had chosen her sister as his next pawn? Darcy realised his ill-concealed preference for Elizabeth Bennet had potentially put her entire family in jeopardy. Clearly George was becoming increasingly desperate or more unfettered by any social conscience.

It was at this point in his ruminations that Darcy realised he could not tolerate George's continued existence in England. What a pity George had ever had the gall* to return from France after absconding there following the Ramsgate incident!

To Darcy's mind there was only one solution, George could not remain as a free agent. He would either have to be imprisoned or sent away, preferably to the Americas, for Europe was too close. As to his imprisonment, Darcy realised it was too risky to implicate George in the death of Denny. Besides the lack of solid evidence, Darcy had compromised himself in the aftermath, and who knew what outrageous counteraccusations George would level to protect himself. Darcy knew his own life and habits could not stand scrutiny. No, if George could not be convinced to go overseas and stay away, it would be safer to put him behind bars based on his debts. George had no means of paying them off and could be effectively incarcerated forever.

Arriving at Bromley, Darcy had to wake up the ostler at the inn to change his horse. The fellow did not look well pleased at first, but after taking stock of Darcy's immaculate black clothes, soon changed his tune; he boasted that the first horse he led out was an ex-racehorse. But the stallion was skittish and would not let Darcy mount him. Thus it was with many horses. They sensed his otherness. He had been forced to sell both his high bred town stallions on returning to London. The next gelding the ostler brought out was more amenable and steadied when Darcy soothed him. Darcy gave the ostler a handsome tip, leaving his card and some extra money to pay a post boy to ride his mare back to London.

Darcy reached Blackfriars Bridge well before dawn, paid the pike keeper, and cantered on through the largely deserted streets over the cobbles. He wondered briefly whether he might have time, after all, to find Wickham in his den, but soon saw the wisdom of not being too hasty; even as he rode, the dark streets became more active as people began to go about their work. Pedlars emerged from side streets, laden with goods. He passed people loading carts. By the time he reached Bond Street, commerce was in full swing, with shopkeepers opening their doors and arranging awnings in the predawn light.

Despite his unexpected appearance in Grosvenor Square, Darcy's own door was opened immediately to him and a footman took his horse. His head footman, Farley, greeted him at the door as Darcy ran up the steps.

"I hope we did not miss a message, sir. We were not expecting you."

"No, Farley," assured Darcy. "I was recalled on urgent business and may yet have to return to Rosings. I am too tired to attend to the bulk of it this morning, but I need to write a letter to my man of business before retiring. He should send a reply by this afternoon. Mr Finn should arrive with the carriage sometime this morning. I will sleep now. If Georgie intends to eat luncheon here, tell her I will join her. Failing that, I would like to meet with her in the afternoon. Should Colonel Fitzwilliam arrive, please wake me immediately."

"Certainly, sir. Shall I send one of the younger footmen up to wait upon you? Would you like some breakfast?"

"No, thank you. Just help me with my boots now and I will go upstairs in my stockings. I intend to merely crawl into bed. I will ring for assistance if Finn has not arrived by the time I wake."

"Very well, sir," said Farley, setting aside the black greatcoat he had just eased from his master's shoulders and going down on one knee to deal with the boots.

* * *

Darcy was woken, hours later, when Finn peered quietly into his chamber from the dressing room.

"Is that you, Finn?" came a voice from behind the bed curtains.

"Yes, sir," said Darcy's valet, advancing to peer through the curtains. "I hope you slept well?"

"Oh, Finn. I am sorry. I expect you did not get a blink of sleep once I roused you in the middle of the night."

"No matter, sir. Everything is packed up. I left one trunk behind, mainly to assure your aunt that we have only gone off temporarily. We can always have it sent on, if events here in London prove too consuming. I slept a little in the coach. It is overcast outside. What are your plans?"

"To go to St Giles as soon as I may and hopefully retrieve the youngest Miss Bennet. Is Georgie awake?"

"Yes, sir. I believe she is in the saloon with her companion, sewing."

"Very well, Finn. I will get dressed and see her. I believe it will be best to return Miss Bennet here, at least until I can contact her family."

* * *

After enlisting his sister's help in housing Lydia after her retrieval, Darcy sat in his darkened study all afternoon, trying to distract himself with the less urgent correspondence that had not been forwarded to Rosings. One part of him hoped hat his cousin Richard would turn up to help him deal with Wickham, the other part of him didn't. Darcy had always enjoyed Richard's support and camaraderie in many matters during their youth, but George was always a point of divergence—Darcy always hoped for a reasonable resolution in dealing with Wickham whereas Richard, with his military training, took a very hard line. But Colonel Fitzwilliam did not appear.

With the gloomy day, it proved possible for Darcy to depart for St Giles in his carriage before sunset, accompanied by Finn and a single footman, young Fletcher, who might prove handy in case of misadventure. Having mishandled his last encounter of a similar nature with Wickham, Darcy was determined to be more wary of George this time. He now knew Wickham would stop at nothing, might even kill him if necessary if he felt threatened. He also realised that George would not be mindful of Lydia's welfare. It was important that she not be injured should a tussle ensue. Riding inside the carriage with Finn, Darcy discussed the possibilities with his valet, carefully instructing him on his actions in various scenarios.

When they turned into the narrow lane near the address, Darcy briefly left the carriage and melted away into the shadows. A quick reconnaissance via the rooftops found that George was in residence on the third floor of the dilapidated lodgings he had previously occupied, and still accompanied by Miss Bennet. Wickham had not even bothered to draw the curtains of his window. He was sitting in the only armchair in the room, playing with a dice box, throwing the dice right hand against left at a table. Lydia sat nearby on the bed, chatting amiably about their future.

Returning to the carriage briefly to confirm George was inside and give his final instructions, Darcy found his usually compliant valet suddenly intractable.

"I will not wait in the carriage, sir," said Finn, more than aware his master had almost breathed his last after the previous encounter with Wickham under similar circumstances. Indeed, had Finn not been in possession of the secret of Darcy's vampiric nature, all might have been lost. "Let me at least come up so that I can render some assistance should things go awry."

"Finn, no. Undoubtedly, he will be armed. Be assured that I do not intend doing anything silly to provoke him as I did last time. I hope to persuade him to be sensible. I have the money he requested in gold and bank drafts and a ticket for passage to the Americas. If he refuses the offer, we will let the constabulary deal with him tomorrow on the basis of his debts. There should be no need for violence."

But Finn was firm. At last Darcy gave way and allowed his man to follow him into the building and up the stairs. He was to stay on the landing out of the way, so George was not threatened by his presence into doing something rash. Finn nodded his acquiescence to this plan. But unbeknownst to Darcy, Finn had brought his own pistol and he was a pretty handy shot, culping wavers every week at Manton's*. Finn kept the weapon concealed in the folds of a cloak, ostensibly for Lydia who would need to be transported back to Mayfair in the cold of the night.

When Darcy knocked on the door at the top of the stairs and announced his presence, there was a scuffling and the exchange of lowered voices inside.

To Darcy's surprise the door was opened not by George but Lydia, dressed only in a wrapper. She had a strange expression on her face, which Darcy could not parse. Perhaps it was curiosity.

"He's alone," said Lydia over her shoulder.

"Come in, Darcy!" came Wickham's voice from behind her. "We have been expecting you. Please lock the door behind you."

Darcy entered. Carefully shielding his actions with his body, he bolted the door behind him but pulled the nail fastening the latch from the woodwork so the door could be opened by a push. He saw Finn place his eye to the gap between the door and its housing.

When Darcy turned back to the room, he discovered that Lydia had retreated to the bed, where she was arranging herself kneeling on her haunches on top of the bedclothes. She seemed completely lacking any embarrassment of her situation. Wickham was still seated in his armchair but the dice box had disappeared. He was now grasping the arms in an authoritative fashion, as if he were Caesar granting an audience.

"I thought you would think to look for me here," he said calmly. "I had intended to ride over to Rosings from Tunbridge Wells in the evening. But when I discovered that Lydia had let the cat out of the bag prematurely by writing to her sister, I decided to move on before you set your cousin onto me again."

"I did not set my cousin onto you, George," protested Darcy. "I told him nothing of our projected meeting until the next day. I waited for over an hour in the hut at the designated time with the sum I promised. Your meeting with Richard was entirely coincidental. If you knew him better, you would have avoided the hut in the morning. Since Spain, fishing has become somewhat of a passion with him. You should also have known that I keep my promises and never employ a proxy for important business. I am sorry for the miscommunication. But to set fire to the parsonage in retaliation! George, it was an infamous thing to do! You have killed someone and injured others! Who was it? Your companion of Hertfordshire, Denny?"

Lydia opened her mouth in shock.

"I do not know what you are talking about," said George benignly. "How typical! The parsonage burns down after I have been in the vicinity and you immediately blame me!"

Darcy sighed, well accustomed to George's eel-like properties. He decided to go through the motions, for Lydia's benefit. "I did not say the parsonage burnt down, George. You did. The corpse I found in the kitchen was dressed in a militia uniform, George, and was holding your watch. You seem to be very careless of the welfare of your young companion."

"This is ridiculous!" protested George. "I loaned Denny that watch in London. He left his own in Brighton, silly boy. I told him I needed to visit Rosings to see you on our way home. Having gone off in London, he must have belatedly followed me there. He must have broken into the kitchen to find himself a snack and knocked something over. Plenty of fires start in kitchens!"

Darcy flicked a glance at Lydia. He could see by her frown and still open mouth that she was rattled by the news of Denny's death, but she showed disturbing signs of being satisfied with George's far-fetched explanation, nodding uncertainly.

"Enough of these baseless accusations!" cried George. "It is time you acknowledged my birthright. I have changed my mind about the hussar regiment. I realise there is something I want more."

"In the circumstances I think it would be wise if you left England, George," said Darcy. "I have arranged passage for you on a ship to the Americas. It sails tomorrow morning with the tide. I have the ticket and a generous amount of money for you, two hundred pounds in gold and a draft for a thousand pounds on a bank in Boston."

"Oh, George!" piped in Lydia. "We could get married on board by the captain. How romantic!"

George threw a contemptuous glance at her, closely followed by a charming smile.

"Miss Lydia," interpolated Darcy. "It really would be better for you to return to your parents."

Lydia glared at Darcy indignantly and looked at George.

George's next words at first pleasantly surprised Darcy, but his relief was short-lived.

"I would not be averse to going to the Americas, provided the terms were right," George said. "But I have a new profession in mind. I must admit that after the events of the other night, I am rather in awe of your physical abilities. Being able to jump to a second storey window is quite a feat. Being able to leap and run with a lady in your arms, I am all admiration! And I suspect that is not half what you can do."

Darcy realised with astonishment that George was referring to his rescue of Elizabeth. George must have got Denny to set the parsonage alight and then stood there, somewhere in the shadows, to watch it burn down.

"No," continued George, "I have decided I want to be like you. Just how did the count instruct you in his extraordinary gift?"

Darcy turned cold, realising what George was requesting—he wanted to be a vampire.

"You don't know what you are asking," Darcy whispered. "You are asking to be cursed."

"Oh, no," replied George cheerfully. "Always you underestimate me! I realise you have not been feeling your best since your trip to Europe, during the day. I know about your headaches and your extraordinary light sensitivity. Miss Bingley was a font of information! But you revive wonderfully at night, don't you? I've worked out some of your secrets. Based on your excursions at Netherfield, I gather your gift is not as easily communicated as common report would have it. It seems your mentor specifically chose to bestow this gift on you, no doubt for your wonderful abilities as a correspondent. You do write amazingly long letters, and in such an even hand!"

Darcy ground his teeth. Why did Wickham have to be so smart? And why could he not employ his abilities in a gainful way?

"So, all I am asking is for you to share your abilities," continued George. "I know you may be a little shy. Members of secret societies always are. So I have rigged up this curtain here so that we may be private."

Wickham gestured and Darcy noticed for the first time the reason he had been able to see into the room from the outside. The curtain rod had been completely removed from the window and arranged across the corner of the room in what Darcy had originally assumed to be a makeshift dressing room.

"No," said Darcy flatly, astonished at Wickham's audacity.

Wickham sighed. "I thought you would be difficult. That is why I enlisted Lydia's help. Be assured that should you try to harm me rather than keep your part of the bargain, she will not hesitate to shoot. We've done some target practice on our way here. She has nerves of steel and is not frightened to pull the trigger, and at this range, she cannot miss," he finished triumphantly.

Darcy's anger was palpable when he turned and saw Lydia pointing a pistol at him. He was aware there was a red tinge to his vision that he had never experienced before. He wondered if the blood tears were close to erupting.

"Come now," said Wickham coaxingly. "We wouldn't want any more innocent lives lost..."

Wickham was likely referring to Denny, but all Darcy could think of was Elizabeth, pale and wheezing in the Green Room—a shadow of her former self. Darcy's guilt over her situation exploded.

Wickham knew the instant the words had left his mouth that he had gone too far. In a moment, Darcy was on top of him.

Lydia hesitated with the pistol, too late to have reacted to Darcy's lightning movement and scared she might accidentally hit George.

"Sir!" cried Finn, flinging open the door and starting after his master.

Startled by this new onslaught, Lydia swung the pistol round towards the intruder and reflexively pulled the trigger. The noise in the tiny room was dreadful. Finn fell. The pistol he was carrying clattered to the floor, sounding like a toy in comparison.

The report of the pistol snapped Darcy from his murderous rage. He pulled away from George, wondering if Lydia had managed to hit him. He could feel nothing but the taste of George's blood on his lips and was confronted with the dreadful sight of what he had done. Blood bubbled from Wickham's throat where the flesh was torn by a single slash. Words formed on Wickham's lips but no sound came. But Darcy knew what George was trying to say; the words seemed to emanate from inside Darcy's head: 'You have killed me'.

A movement in the corner of his eye drew Darcy's attention to Lydia. He saw her drop the pistol from limp hands, waver, and fall forward over the end of the bed. He dropped Wickham, appalled at what he had done to him, and leapt to cushion her fall.

It was only after he lowered her inert body back on the bed that Darcy turned and saw Finn sprawled on his back, his hand to his chest.

"Finn," Darcy cried, coming to his valet's aid. "How badly are you hurt? Has it touched some vital spot?"

Finn could only grimace in reply and give a slight nod.

"No!" hissed an unrecognisable voice from Wickham's direction. "Not him! You must save me! Do it now!"

Darcy looked at his nemesis. George had propped himself against the wall on his elbow, his other hand at his throat. Blood seeped from between his fingers.

It was at this moment that Darcy heard running footsteps on the stairs, expected the imminent eruption of the night watchman into the room, no doubt drawn by the sound of the shot. He turned towards the door. Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam stepped into the room.

Richard took one look at Darcy and the three prostrate bodies in the room and shut the door behind him.

"What has happened? he said quietly.

Darcy heaved a great hiccuping sigh. "I think I have killed Wickham and he has done for Finn who tried to intervene."

Richard looked in the direction of Lydia; noted the pistol on the floor where she had dropped it, close to the end of the bed. "And Lydia?" he enquired.

"She has merely fainted from the horror of it all," replied Darcy.

Richard observed Wickham narrowly. He saw George's eyes flick to another, much finer, duelling pistol that lay beyond Finn, not a foot from George's boot. Richard walked over to retrieve it.

Darcy turned his attention back to Finn. His valet was trying to speak.

"Sir, it has been... a pleasure serving you," said Finn in a halting voice, his lips twisted in pain.

Darcy tentatively opened Finn's ruined waistcoat and prised his fingers apart to see a wound remarkably like the one he had received at Wickham's hand the previous year—both the lung and stomach were pierced. The sight of the blood was almost overwhelming to Darcy's vampiric sensibilities. Finn had closed his eyes with the pain. Wickham's last words burned in Darcy's mind.

"Finn," said Darcy, leaning over him. "Could you bear to be one such as myself? Should I change you?"

Finn's eyes flickered open. There seemed not much strength left in him. "Yes," he replied faintly.

"I don't know if it will work," cautioned Darcy. "It may kill you sooner."

"Try," managed Finn and closed his eyes once more.

Darcy looked at his cousin who was locked in a battle of glares with the bloody Wickham, but who could not be unaware of the quiet conversation between Darcy and his valet in the otherwise silent room.

"Should I?" he asked Richard.

Richard turned his back on him. "That is for you to decide," he said levelly.

After a moment's indecision, Darcy pushed Finn's sleeve up and pulled out his watch. Turning his back to Wickham, he sank his fangs into Finn's arm and stared at the second hand. The blood tasted weird, of fright, presumably instilled by Finn's reaction to the gunshot wound. Fifteen seconds... thirty... with the exception of the sole anomalous vampire, Darcy had never done this before. What was the count's margin of error? How much blood could he take without imperilling Finn directly? Surely his heart would stop? Darcy did some calculations as he drank; remembered there was still two port bottles of fresh venesection blood in a hidden compartment in his carriage from his journey. He continued to watch the second hand avidly. After he reach three minutes, he felt the pulse begin to gain in rapidity and also to weaken. Not daring to go on any longer, Darcy pulled himself free.

A shot rang out.

In a flash, Darcy had sprung to his feet and pushed Richard to the wall in an effort to spare him. It was only then he noticed the smoking gun was in his cousin's hand, not Wickham's. He turned towards Wickham. He was slumped against the wall, inanimate, a gaping hole in his throat where the gash in his neck had been, his bloodied and mutilated hand at his side.

"What have you done?" Darcy asked his cousin in horror.

"Your valet and Wickham exchanged fire," said Richard calmly. "Got it?"

"Richard!" said Darcy in disbelief.

"Come on, Darcy!" urged Richard. "The watch may be in on us at any moment! Your valet and Wickham exchanged fire," he repeated doggedly.

"But Lydia!" protested Darcy, knowing she had seen him attack Wickham.

"I will talk to Lydia when she wakes," assured Richard. "I will make her see which side her bread is buttered on. Perhaps you should fetch a doctor for your man."

Darcy hesitated, trying to come to terms with what his cousin had done. "All right," he conceded, unable to see any other solution. "I believe I can convince Lydia. But no doctor yet, I will bind up Finn's wound."

Richard shrugged. Darcy made to remove the sheets from the bed, looked at them in disgust and picked up the cloak Finn had been carrying. Tearing off his gloves, he began to rip at the hem of the cloak with his fangs, then pulled the tears into strips.

Richard looked on for a moment and then bent down to pull a knife from his boot. "Try this," he said, offering it. "What can I do?"

"Please lift Finn while I wind the bandages," suggested Darcy.

Finn was unconscious but his heart was still beating. Finally, having packed and bandaged the gunshot wound and staunched the puncture wounds on his arm, they laid him down on the floor. From behind them, Lydia made a sound and attempted to sit up.

"I cannot believe the watch has not yet appeared," marvelled Richard. "I believe I shall have to go alert them."

"Wait," said Darcy. "There are some port wine bottles in my carriage, behind the left front seat. Can you fetch them while I deal with Lydia?"

Richard grimaced but nodded his assent.

When he returned with the bottles, Darcy was standing over Lydia who was sitting on the end of the bed. With his gloved hands on Lydia's shoulders, Darcy was whispering to her. Lydia's lips were moving in reply but no sound issued from her lips.

Richard waited until there seemed to be a pause in the proceedings. "Can I instruct your footman to fetch the watch now?" he enquired.

Darcy nodded and took the port wine bottles from him.

Ten minutes later, Richard appeared with the watch and the parish constable, with Fletcher trailing behind.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*had the gall—had the temerity, audacity, chutzpah (and bad pun)

*Manton's—a shooting gallery


	35. Slightly disguised

**In response to the feedback that the tension between Darcy and Wickham escalated too quickly, I have slightly rewritten the last chapter. Not really worth going back to read but hopefully the pacing is better. Thank you,** ** _Chica_** **.**

 **Suggestions for the title of chapter 34 were:**

 **"Ding dong Wickham's gone" or "Finn's Folly" or "So long, it's been good to know you, NOT" or "Showdown" By** ** _Deanna27_** **,**

 **"Wickham gets his just desserts" by** ** _Brytte Mystere_** **,**

 **"they never learn" Or how about "showdown at sunset" by** ** _anita1788_** **,**

 **"Like you" or "I Want to Be Like You" by** ** _Chica de Los Ojas Cafe,_**

 **"Actions and (their) consequences" by** ** _nessy22_** **,**

 **"The Ends Justify the Means" by** ** _Windchimed_** **,**

 **"From here to immortality" by** ** _suddenlysingle_** **,**

 **"What have you done?" (a good question and not only for Richard but for Lydia too and even Darcy), "The downfall of a fiend", "Two shots and two rescues" by** ** _Laure Saint-Yves._**

 **Thanks for your suggestions. I thought of "Action and reaction", inspired by** ** _nessy22_** **, liked "From here to immortality" by** ** _suddenlysingle_** **, but decided to go with "The Ends Justify the Means" by** ** _Windchimed_** **.**

* * *

 **Chapter 35**

Despite the terrible outcome, the recovery of Lydia proceeded remarkably smoothly once the law arrived. Against a colonel in the life guards and a wealthy landowner, a dead junior officer of a militia had not much sway. Darcy's story of his attempted intervention in the elopement of his father's godson with an underage girl from a respectable family was highly believable. He deviated from the truth only on essential points, so that his account would tally with anyone who had heard the reports from the pistols. Wickham had been drunk and aggressive, unwilling to give up the girl who was a visitor in the household of his commanding officer at Brighton. Nor would he accept the passage Darcy had purchased for him to the Americas. When Darcy had attempted to remove Lydia forcibly, Wickham had pulled a pistol from his carpetbag and attempted to shoot him, gravely injuring his valet instead. But his valet, though fallen, had belatedly managed to return fire. The constable could only shake his head at the tragic denouement.

Darcy showed the gold and the ticket, giving up the latter for the inquest. Colonel Forster's name was tendered. Colonel Fitzwilliam vouched for the circumstances of the elopement; he had travelled independently from Kent to aid his cousin in search of the runaway lovers. He had not been in the room when the shots were fired, having been belatedly advised that the eloping couple had been found, but he had arrived shortly after the second shot. Finding Lieutenant Wickham beyond succour, he had helped staunch the wound of Darcy's valet before retrieving the constabulary.

Lydia remained conveniently dumb and prostrate throughout the proceedings, just as Darcy had intended. He explained how she had fainted after the first shot was fired, had been spared the sight of her companion's death.

The constable noted the positions of the dead and injured parties in the room and impounded the guns, admiring the mountings on Finn's pistol and asking if it was Darcy's own. Darcy replied in the negative; he favoured singlestick. He paid his valet well. The constable then assured him Finn's pistol would be returned after the inquest. Wickham's effects were noted, the dice box and empty port bottles. Darcy had already rinsed the bottles with water from the ewer in the colonel's absence and tipped them into the already bloody basin used to tend Finn's injuries. There was no evidence they had ever contained blood, but nor did they smell of port. Darcy was considerably relieved when the constable contented himself with taking the dead man's carpetbag and dice box, leaving the questionable bottles behind. It was likely both of the handsome confiscated articles would mysteriously disappear after the inquest,

After requesting anonymity for the lady in question, who was described only in the constable's notes as Miss B, the constable assured Darcy he would be discreet when he arrived to question Lydia on the morrow at Darcy's townhouse in Mayfair. Finally, the Mayfair party were given leave to depart with Lydia and the injured Finn. Someone would have to be dispatched to Brighton to take a statement from Colonel Forster before the matter could be brought before a magistrate. Wickham's body was transported to the watch house.

* * *

On the following day, Mr Gardiner arrived in Mayfair late in the afternoon, having been advised of the recovery of his niece by a note sent to Cheapside by Darcy. Needless to say, Mr Gardiner was not in the best of moods with his relative.

After establishing that Lydia and her swain had absconded from The Edgcombe in Tunbridge Wells with their shot unpaid, he had been forced to leave his fob* with the proprietor of the inn in lieu of payment, promising to return to redeem it within a fortnight. Despite trying to shake off Colonel Fitzwilliam before visiting the inn, Mr Gardiner had been forced to make his hushed enquiries to the landlord in the colonel's presence and completely undone when the proprietor raised his voice. Mr Gardiner had been mortified when his travelling companion had offered to help him find Lydia. His embarrassment on behalf of his wayward niece was only partly offset when the colonel explained that Lieutenant Wickham was known to him as a charming rogue.

Thus they had parted at The Wells, with Colonel Fitzwilliam offering to use his military connections in London to trace the errant couple—should they have gone in that direction—while he encouraged Mr Gardiner to journey on to Brighton where he suspected the runaways had most likely returned after finding themselves so disastrously short of funds.

Mr Gardiner had journeyed on in the night mail*, wavering between hope and despair of finding his niece in Brighton. His interview with Colonel Forster at first light had only added to his worries. Lydia had not returned there and Colonel Forster could only apologise to Mr Gardiner for not better supervising his wife's friend. She had disappeared during the previous night, likely with Lieutenant Wickham, who had been facing disciplinary action for dereliction of his duty and his role in the mysterious disappearance of another officer—a young ensign named Denny, a good boy whom the colonel had taken under his wing. The colonel now faced the unpleasant task of informing Denny's widowed mother of her son's disappearance. The colonel thought it highly unlikely that the boy had deserted as Wickham had asserted.

Further enquiries by the colonel during the day had established that a girl fitting Lydia's description had hired a post-chaise from a posting inn on the afternoon of Wickham's flight. It had left Brighton from an address on The Steyne around midnight, but neither the chaise nor the post boys had yet returned to Brighton, so no further information could be got there. The colonel had spent the afternoon interviewing other officers of his regiment, which had only established that Wickham had many debts to his fellow officers as well as several proprietors in Brighton. Finally his wife had come to him and tearfully admitted that she and Lydia had visited Lieutenant Wickham in the lock-up in the afternoon, having felt sorry for him. Mrs Forster proffered a letter from Lydia confirming their elopement, which she had 'only just found'.

The colonel had then offered to return to London with Mr Gardiner, for he was keen that Wickham should be disciplined for his offences. He thought a court-martial highly likely. A post-chaise had been hired, from which Mr Gardiner had alighted at three in the afternoon at his house in Gracechurch Street. He hoped to wash and eat before heading out again to visit all the posting inns that serviced the south. Colonel Forster had travelled on to the barracks in search of a military man by the name of Harry Winston who he thought might be able to shed some light on the movements of Wickham and Mr Denny during their trip to London. The colonel hoped thereby to get some clue of Wickham and Lydia's current whereabouts.

It had been with some surprise that Mr Gardiner received Mr Darcy's note from his housekeeper on arriving home. He had opened it with some trepidation, fearing it might be bad news about Elizabeth from Rosings. It had been with great relief that he read Darcy's note explaining that his other niece could be retrieved from the Darcy townhouse in Mayfair, where she was being chaperoned by his sister. Mr Gardiner could only wonder how Mr Darcy had got wind of the affair and located Lydia so expeditiously. In the time it took him to wash and change into some fresh clothes, Mr Gardiner's housekeeper had made him a sandwich and procured a tankard of beer from the inn down the street. Downing this hastily, Mr Gardiner hailed a hackney and wended his way to Grosvenor Square.

Lydia had spent her morning recounting her experiences to Miss Darcy in the privacy of the best guest chamber. Georgiana had initially been a little stiff and frosty with her visitor. She was very ashamed and uncomfortable about her own adventure with George Wickham—which she did not divulge to her guest— particularly since it had caused her brother so much pain and anxiety. However it soon became apparent that Lydia's rollicking adventure, complete with gaol break, shopping at the Pantiles, and a giggling rendition of her eventual deflowering, had little in common with Georgiana's own rather genteel elopement with George—at least until the horrible episode of their confrontation with her brother, when George had suddenly seemed to lose his mind and behave in a less than gentlemanly way. Indeed, Darcy would have been considerably comforted if he had been able to view the wide-eyed expressions on his sister's face during the rendition of Lydia's story, even if he would not approved of its salacious content. Miss Darcy was considerably educated.

The constable arrived to take Lydia's statement on the confrontation leading to George's demise around eleven. He was ushered into the saloon where, supported by Georgiana and Mrs Annesley, Lydia confirmed the elopement before describing how George had fired the first shot at Mr Darcy's valet, the slightly altered memory Darcy had implanted in her mind to absolve her of blame. She truthfully told how she had fainted on seeing Mr Darcy's man fall to the ground and conveniently broke into a torrent of tears.

On the constable's departure, Lydia was calmed with tea and soothing words and rebounded wonderfully when Mrs Annesley proffered shopping on Bond Street as a distraction. Thus when Mr Gardiner banged the knocker of the Darcy townhouse at three, it was to discover that his niece had gone to view the delights of the Western Bazaar* and possibly to sample an ice at Gunther's on the way back. He was ushered into Mr Darcy's darkened study.

"I beg your pardon, Mr Darcy," said Mr Gardiner, after the door had closed behind him, "for burdening you with my family's troubles—first Elizabeth and now this. I must admit I am at a loss to know how you so quickly located Lydia and why you put yourself to the trouble."

Darcy got up to shake hands. "The answer to both is simple, Mr Gardiner—I have been the inadvertent cause of your problems."

Mr Gardiner could only look at Mr Darcy in astonishment.

"Please sit down, Mr Gardiner," said Darcy, gesturing to a chair. "Would you like some brandy?"

After passing Mr Gardiner his glass and filling another for himself, Darcy sat down with a sigh. "Firstly I must explain my connection to Lieutenant Wickham. George Wickham was the son of my father's steward—a very reliable and highly skilled man who had previously worked as an attorney. My father held Mr Wickham senior in such esteem that the two became fast friends and my father happily stood godfather to George when he was christened. Unfortunately George's mother was not so reliable. She abandoned her family when George was three to run off with an actor. When George was ten, his father sickened and died within the space of a year, leaving George an orphan.

"My father felt terribly sorry for George and would not give him up to the parish as many advised him. He paid for George's education at an expensive school in Nottinghamshire, reserved a valuable living for him, and subsequently sent him to Cambridge to study for the Church. George had only scraped through the first year of his studies when my father died. He was given a thousand pounds in my father's will, and a promise that a stipend would continued to be paid to him until the living became available.

"A year afterwards, George came to me requesting to change his arrangements. I was then twenty-two and struggling to fill my father's shoes. George was finding his stipend insufficient for his needs. He did not think the Church would suit him. He did not like being treated as a baby—having his allowance doled out. From my father he had tolerated it; from me, he thought it insufferable. He offered to release me from all future obligations to himself in return for a lump sum with which to study the law. I foolishly gave him three thousand pounds in order to be delivered from ever seeing him again.

"For a few years I thought I was rid of him. Occasionally news of him filtered back to me. It was never good. I heard that he had ceased studying law; that he kept the company of a series of widows. Finally he intruded most painfully on my notice again. I had just returned from a trip to the Continent. He tried to elope with another young lady of my acquaintance who, like Lydia, was very young at the time."

Mr Gardiner hissed. "I see," he said, hastily revising his view of the affair. He had wondered if Lydia had perhaps overwhelmed a silly young man into doing something foolish—he knew her enthusiasms. "So he is a serial offender."

"Yes," said Darcy simply. Though he knew Wickham's choice of companion in the two cases had very different motivations, in the end it amounted to the same thing—escape from a mess of his own making, the pursuit of more money.

"Then," said Mr Gardiner, "I must ask you the uncomfortable question. Do you think that he compromised her? Could she be with child?"

Darcy shifted uncomfortably. "I am afraid, Mr Gardiner, that you will need to be prepared for that possibility."

Mr Gardiner sighed and gulped the last of his brandy. He stared into the fire for a moment, cogitating, before turning to his host again. "I suppose we will then have to arrange their marriage. How are they to make their way in the world? Colonel Forster suggested that Lieutenant Wickham was greatly in debt and likely to face a court-martial. Good Lord! How much money will be needed to extract him from the mess?"

"Mr Gardiner," said Darcy gently. "I am sorry to relate that George Wickham is dead. There was an altercation and an exchange of fire. A constable was here this morning to take Lydia's statement."

"Heavens above!" exclaimed Mr Gardiner. "Will the matter then be dragged through the courts?"

"I think it unlikely, Mr Gardiner. George has no one to mourn him. The constable involved has assured me that the magistrate will likely deem it death by misadventure. I have asked for George's body to be released to me so that he can be buried in Derbyshire next to his father."

Mr Gardiner proceeded to stare into the fire, turning his brandy glass in his hands absentmindedly. "I suppose, if she is with child, I shall have to arrange a marriage for her. There is an ambitious fellow at work who might be amenable. But Lydia! I dare not hope she will be compliant! My wife tells me she is mad for redcoats. Do you think that one of the junior officers of Colonel Forster's regiment could be persuaded to marry her?"

"I hardly know. I am not well acquainted with any of them. But there is another possibility—she could retreat to a secluded cottage until she has delivered the child. I have several properties in Derbyshire where she could potentially stay once she begins to show. The baby could be fostered out."

"That is extraordinarily generous of you, Mr Darcy. But I could not think to impose upon you in such a way!"

"Nonsense," said Darcy. "I feel largely responsible for the whole debacle. I was never able to deal adequately with Wickham. As unchristian as it sounds, I can only admit to a terrible relief in knowing he will not darken my doorstep* ever again. Do you have a female relative who could accompany her?"

"No maiden aunts or widows, I'm afraid," replied Mr Gardiner. "It will have to be one of her sisters."

At this Darcy looked up suddenly and then guiltily down again. The possibility of bringing Elizabeth to his native shire had immediately suggested itself and sent a thrill shivering through him.

"Could I ask you a question, Mr Darcy?" enquired Mr Gardiner after a moment.

"Go ahead."

"Did you not imply that Elizabeth's accident was also somehow related to yourself and presumably Lieutenant Wickham?"

One part of Darcy silently cursed himself for complicating matters and forcing himself to tell more half-truths while another part told him it was the honest thing to do.

Darcy thought very carefully over his next words. "I have good reason to believe it was Wickham who burned down the parsonage."

"You mean it was arson?" exclaimed Mr Gardiner. "Why on earth would he do such a thing?"

Darcy took a deep breath. "George knew I had developed a fondness for your niece Elizabeth in Hertfordshire, Mr Gardiner. He was trying to extract more money from me by threatening her. I do not think he meant to burn the parsonage to the ground. I believe matters got out of hand."

This information greatly perturbed Mr Gardiner. He jumped up and leaned against the mantelpiece, his brows drawn together. Darcy could almost see the gears whirring and meshing in his mind.

Finally, Mr Gardiner looked up, piercing Darcy with his eyes. "I understand you rescued Elizabeth?" he stated rather sharply. "Climbed into a window to retrieve her? The parsonage is quite a distance from the manor house. How did you come to be at hand?"

"Mr Gardiner, I understand your anger that your niece has come to harm through my negligence," said Darcy sincerely. "In your position, I would feel the same. Please know that had I been aware of George's intentions, I would have done anything to stop him. I had arranged to meet him at midnight at the boat house, which lies between the manor house and the parsonage. I had at least some of the money he had demanded to cover his debts. Although I had not managed to arrange a commission in a hussar regiment as he requested, it was my intention to do so.

"Unfortunately my cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, encountered George after he made his initial demands and sent him packing. George thought I had reneged on my promises and set my cousin on to him, which I can assure you, is more reflective of the way George thought than I do. Knowing that I had a fondness for Elizabeth, he chose to raise the stakes."

"So you just happened to be in the vicinity?"

"When George had not showed an hour after our appointed rendezvous, I left the boat house to return to the manor house. On stepping outside, I immediately saw the light in the sky from the fire and ran to investigate."

"Forgive me," said Mr Gardiner. "All of this has been very upsetting. Please accept my heartfelt thanks for rescuing my niece Elizabeth, Mr Darcy. But now I feel I must ask you to explain your attentions to her. The sensibilities of my eldest niece Jane have been greatly affected by expectations raised by your friend Mr Bingley in Hertfordshire. Am I now to endure a second round with Elizabeth? Have you been trifling with her? Is that why she finally agreed to visit her friend Charlotte against her previous determination—so that she might meet again with you?"

"Be assured that our meeting in Kent was entirely coincidental, Mr Gardiner. We did not get off on a good foot in Hertfordshire. I started by inadvertently insulting your niece when I was trying to avoid dancing at a local assembly. I subsequently got to know her a little better at other gatherings and tried to make amends for my rudeness. I found her to be a very interesting lady with a wit and esprit not commonly found in the ballrooms of London. We spoke a little of chemistry and alchemy."

Mr Gardiner raised his eyebrows.

"She told me of her father's work as a fellow in Oxford," continued Darcy. "I left a small present for her with her father when I left. It was more of a joke really—a gold coin, so that she could make dragon's blood. I did not expect to ever see her again."

"I will not ask of the nature of dragon's blood," replied Mr Gardiner. "I presume it has something to do with alchemy. I know of Elizabeth's fondness for her still room and her father. Of all my nieces, she is the closest to Mr Bennet."

Darcy acknowledged his awareness of this with a nod. "I must admit that my thoughts returned to Elizabeth frequently when I returned to London but I did not expect to act on my partiality for her. I go to Rosings around Easter every year, as a trustee to oversee my cousin's estate and also to visit my aunt and cousin. My aunt has hopes that I might unite the two estates by marrying my cousin but there is little enthusiasm for the match on either side. I was very surprised to find Elizabeth there. I knew her cousin was my aunt's parson—I met him in Hertfordshire. But I also knew he had married Miss Lucas and thought there might be some awkwardness between Mr Collins and his Hertfordshire cousins as a result. I know Mrs Bennet was hoping for a match between him and one of his daughters."

Mr Gardiner frowned. Of course he had had the entire story of Mr Collins' proposal to Elizabeth from his sister at Christmas and wondered just how much of it had reached Mr Darcy's ears. "Go on," said Mr Gardiner.

"There is not much more to say," said Darcy. "I came under pressure to marry once more from my aunt. After meeting Elizabeth again in Kent I realised that if I must marry, then I would prefer to be married to her."

"That hardly sounds enthusiastic," said Mr Gardiner.

"I was unsure whether I was ready for marriage," hedged Darcy before deciding to divulge the entire truth. "But I can assure you that the lack of enthusiasm is entirely on Elizabeth's side. I asked her to marry me and she declined."

"What?" spluttered Mr Gardiner. "What is wrong with the girl? I assure you I will talk to her!"

"Please do not, Mr Gardiner. I do not want an unwilling bride. My parents' marriage was one of true felicity—quite unusual for its time. I have always hoped to emulate it," said Darcy sadly.

"When did this proposal occur?" asked Mr Gardiner.

"The night before the fire," replied Darcy. "The inhabitants of the parsonage were invited to dinner that night. Miss Elizabeth did not come, being indisposed. I saw my chance to talk to her privately and left dinner early to walk to the parsonage. She did not receive my proposal well. We argued and I left. Unbeknownst to me Wickham had followed me to the parsonage, he confronted me on my way back to the manor house with his demands."

"Forgive me, Mr Darcy," said Mr Gardiner. "There is something that does not seem right about your explanation. I do not see why Lieutenant Wickham chose to make Elizabeth central to his plans. Is it possible there is more to your story than you are divulging?"

Darcy could feel the sweat breaking out on his brow and sought to calm himself. "Indeed, Mr Gardiner, you have guessed it. Wickham saw me kiss Elizabeth against her will. She fainted and I had to carry her to a sofa. Wickham sought to use my compromising behaviour to his advantage."

"You did not compromise her as Lieutenant Wickham has compromised Lydia?" asked Mr Gardiner in alarm.

"No, sir. You have my word. My kiss, which was not returned by your niece, was borne more of frustration; from my inability to convince her with my words. I desisted as soon as she fainted and deeply regret my actions."

Mr Gardiner was mollified by Mr Darcy's sincere manner but before he could question his host further, a noisy eruption in the hallway heralded the return of Lydia and he was forced to return to the more pressing matter of his youngest niece.

"I shall return Lydia to Longbourn immediately and discuss matters with her father. If the need should arise, may I pass on to him your offer of accommodation for Lydia in the north?"

"Certainly. I hope to return to Rosings in a few days to deal with the reconstruction of the parsonage, once I have seen to my valet's needs. If you wish a place in my carriage, I will wait until Tuesday for your return from Hertfordshire."

It was on the tip of Mr Gardiner's tongue to refuse—not wishing to further importune Mr Darcy. But he thought of his niece Elizabeth and the possibility that she might yet be brought to see sense and graciously agreed.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*fob—an ornament attached to a watch chain, a piece of male jewellery that was once as ubiquitous as phone charms or Pandora bracelets.

*night mail—coaches that carried the post every evening from London. Theses 'fast' coaches also took passengers but ran to a very strict timetable, allowing little time for comfort stops.

Western Bazaar*—a shopping complex of different vendors in Bond Street, which was a forerunner of the modern department store, as depicted in The Paradise.

*To darken someone's door (usually with a negative) to casting one's shadow across the threshold, an unwelcome visitor, attested from 1729.


	36. Things that go bump

**Thanks to Laure Saint-Yves for finding that typo or brainflip or whatever it was for Gunter's. I had another one in the same sentence referring to the 'Western Bazaar'. It was called the 'Western Exchange' or the 'Bond St Bazaar'. What is the nominative equivalent of a mixed metaphor?**

 **Suggestions for the title of Chapter 35 were:**

 **"Altered Reality" or "Slightly Disguised" by** ** _Deanna27_** **,**

 **"Half-truths" by** ** _Chica de Los Ojas Cafe,_**

 **"Dissembling the Truth" by** ** _nanciellen_** **,**

 **"Imbroglio" by** ** _Laure Saint-Yves,_**

 **"conversation in confidence" or "reveal some cards of the draw pile" by** ** _nessy22_** **,**

 **"Called to Question" Or "Reluctant Recounting" by** ** _beckyzozo_** **,**

 **"Re(ve)lations", "To say or not to say" by** ** _Beaty_** **,**

 **"Investigations and Explanations" by** ** _suddenlysingle_**

 **Some very good ones there. Kudos to** ** _Beaty_** **for "Re(ve)lations" and** ** _nanciellen_** **for "Dissembling the Truth". I decided to go with "Slightly Disguised" by** ** _Deanna27_** **, which covers the brandy as well as the discourse.**

* * *

 **Chapter 36 Things that go bump**

Finn's recovery was not as swift as Darcy's had been, but in the circumstances Darcy could only be glad that his valet's transformation had worked at all. Not only had Darcy been unsure of his ability to perform the procedure, he had worried that it had been done too late to save Finn's life. But by the time Mr Gardiner had knocked on the door of the Grosvenor Square townhouse following his journey to Hertfordshire, Darcy was confident that Finn was well on the road to recovery.

To start off with, Darcy mostly nursed Finn himself. They had, of course, been obliged to hide the seriousness of Finn's wounds for exactly the same reasons that Darcy had fled to Hertfordshire. Darcy's servants, who had not been in the room when Finn was injured, were told merely that the valet had been 'winged'*. The doctor had not been called. When Darcy had arrived home on the previous night, he had fobbed off his housekeeper Mrs Flowers with Lydia who descended from the coach first. After the women had vanished inside, Fletcher had helped Darcy extract Finn from the carriage. Once they were both standing on the cobbles, the footman had then been completely flabbergasted when Darcy had picked his valet up like a baby and proceeded to carry him up the front steps alone. Fletcher's mild protest drew a quelling 'hush' from Darcy and the footman had to content himself with opening and closing doors for his master as they proceeded into the house and up the stairs. Fletcher was considerably in awe of Darcy's physical abilities by the time they reached Darcy's bedchamber, concluding that the Quality were indeed a superior race and mentally pledging fealty to Darcy forever.

Once Darcy had got Finn settled into the cot he sometimes occupied in Darcy's dressing room rather than his own small bedchamber above stairs, he sent Fletcher off for a pail of hot water. He quickly removed the packing from Finn's wound and, having established that it had cauterised itself, threw the bloody rags into the grate.

Throughout his lonely vigil during what remained of the night, Darcy plied his valet with the blood of venesection and was gratified to see the wound closing surely and steadily. By the time the sun rose, Finn was able to hold the cup himself and Darcy relinquished his valet's care to one of the housemaids so that he might sleep. Her only instruction was that Mr Finn was to be supplied at all times with a full mug of the port wine on his side table. The girl concluded that Mr Darcy was trying to pickle his valet. After a brief prayer for Mr Finn's liver, she sat down at the valet's bedside next to a single candle and proceeded to hem a handkerchief.

It took three whole days for the wound to close over rather than the matter of hours it had taken in Darcy's case. Nonetheless when Mr Gardiner had arrived to retrieve his niece on the afternoon of the first day, it was already apparent to Darcy that Finn would soon be on his feet again. Darcy soon determined that Rosings would be a good place to instruct his valet in his new lifestyle.

Darcy and Finn had set off again for Rosings before sunrise on Tuesday, stopping briefly in Gracechurch Street for Mr Gardiner. Elizabeth's uncle had been somewhat surprised by the funereal black coach with its heavy black velvet curtains that drew up outside his house. After stepping into the street in the nascent dawn, he was able to better appreciate the sleek lines of the lightweight coach and could only conclude that Mr Darcy was an eccentric—so typical of the Ton! When his host and his valet both settled down to nap as the coach clattered over the cobbles, Mr Gardiner very obligingly did likewise, thinking perhaps they had spent all night boxing the watch* or in pursuit of some other Tonnish pastime.

Once the coach left the confines of the London streets, Mr Gardiner heard the coachman cracking his whip and urging the horses onwards, after which the coach developed an alarming sway that seemed not to perturb his host. The vehicle soon settled down to a steadier motion that was marred only by a slight jolt when they hit the occasional bump in the road. Peeking briefly through the curtains, Mr Gardiner found the countryside rushing by at an alarming rate and decided that the black curtains had been installed to spare the occupants of the very well sprung coach from motion sickness.

Mr Gardiner was very impressed when they arrived at Rosings well before noon in what had been a remarkably comfortable trip. But he could only look on in bemusement when Mr Darcy and his valet both perched dark glasses on their noses and produced heavy oilskin umbrellas to emerge into a perfect spring day. In the dark vestibule of the manor house, he thanked his host genially for his swift and comfortable passage to Kent. Darcy responded politely and summoned one of his aunt's footmen to convey Mr Gardiner to his relatives.

Mr Gardiner was taken to the Yellow Room where he found his wife dozing in a day gown on top of the covers of a large four-poster bed.

"Edward!" said Mrs Gardiner, getting up quickly on perceiving her husband enter the room. "I got your note. Thank God you found her! And you got her home all right? How did Fanny and Mr Bennet take it?"

Mr Gardiner frowned. "Well, I suppose I can report that Lydia is still all in one piece*. Though I cannot congratulate myself that I handled her return to Longbourn very well. Although what else I could have done, I do not know."

"Oh dear," sighed Mrs Gardiner. "Whatever happened?"

"I am afraid, my dear, that Lydia was compromised."

"Oh, heavens!" said Mrs Gardiner with a resigned look at her husband. The possibility of Lydia's ruin had, of course, been near the top of Mrs Gardiner's list of worries since she had received the sparse missive her husband had sent from the receiving office at Saint Albans, saying he was returning Lydia to Longbourn.

"I managed to get Fanny and Mr Bennet alone after Lydia went upstairs with his sisters," Mr Gardiner explained. "Fanny fell into lamentations on discovering that not only was her daughter compromised but that Lieutenant Wickham was dead, having been shot during the fracas when Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr Darcy confronted him. When I related that Mr Darcy had very kindly offered temporary accommodation for Lydia in the north, should she need it, Mr Bennet stormed off saying that I could take Lydia there right now for all he cared—he never wanted to see her again. As you can imagine, Fanny promptly went into hysterics."

"Oh, my poor dear! I wondered why you were so long in returning after the note. I thought perhaps you might have got caught up with business on the way back."

"No. I spent the whole time reconciling Matthew to Lydia's staying at home, at least for the moment. He finally came round but he is still not speaking to her. I think we will need to go back to try to smooth things over, but I thought my first duty once a truce had been reached was to return to you and Elizabeth in Kent. How go things on that front?"

"Oh, Edward!" said Mrs Gardiner clutching her husband. "I fear..."

But she could get no further. Instead she buried her face in his shoulder to stifle her sobs. Mr Gardiner was a little surprised to see his strong-minded wife so greatly affected. He could only hug her tightly and rock her from side to side, hoping the news was not too bad. "There, there. You look like you have not slept well."

"I'm sorry," said Mrs Gardiner recovering herself. "Elizabeth has had a high fever from the day after you left. Jane and I have been nursing her with the assistance of Miss de Bourgh. Dr Grantley keeps saying hopeful things but I know he is worried. He has moved Mariah into a different room and told Charlotte she must devote herself to her husband and her sister, so as to not risk carrying the infection from Elizabeth."

"Well I am here," said her husband reassuringly. "We must hope and pray that Elizabeth will be strong enough to pull through."

* * *

The first Darcy knew of the deterioration in Elizabeth's condition was when he finally managed to visit her around three in the afternoon. He had spent the first half-hour after his return to Rosings informing his aunt of his movements, during which he had discovered that the engineers had arrived to inspect what remained of the parsonage. To his aunt's enquiries of the whereabouts of Colonel Fitzwilliam, he had been forced to invent some story of Richard having met some old army friends in Tunbridge Wells and gone off to London with them. This news had highly displeased Lady Catherine who had declared that Rosings was not a hotel and asked when she might have the pleasure of next seeing her nephew or if he would instead prefer his effects to be couriered to him.

In truth, after meeting Darcy on the day after Lydia's recovery, Richard had gone off in search of Colonel Forster, on the basis of Mr Gardiner's information that Wickham's commanding officer had accompanied him to London; he hoped to make all tidy there. Feeling guilty, Darcy had hastily revised his tale, telling his aunt that he thought Colonel Fitzwilliam to be engaged on some official business that involved visiting the troops training in Brighton. Richard was instead discovering the extent of Wickham's debts there and had been instructed by Darcy to offer a pension to Denny's mother through Colonel Forster, should her circumstances warrant it. Thus had Darcy finally hoped to end all claims of George Wickham on his purse, though he supposed that Lydia could yet introduce another chapter to the sorry saga.

After his interrogation by his aunt, Darcy had then met with the engineers in the library, which he had felt obligated to do as they had been in Kent for two days, completed their assessment, and had been waiting on his pleasure to meet them for the best part of one.

He had finally stolen away to the Green Room around three, ostensibly to check on his oxygen-producing apparatus. He was dismayed to find it sitting unused in a corner. Jane Bennet and Mrs Gardiner hovered near Elizabeth, bathing her forehead with vinegar.

Anne got up from the sofa near the hearth to approach him.

"Why have you dispensed with the factitious airs?" whispered Darcy to his cousin. "She is not yet recovered."

"It was only taken away this morning, Fitzwilliam," explained Anne softly. "Her fever has risen. She is drifting in and out of delirium. The ladies need to remain close to her and it was getting in the way. Dr Grantley thinks she may need to be put in a cool bath. If her temperature gets any higher she may fit."

Darcy looked at the bed in concern.

Anne pulled him further away, into a corner of the room. "She spoke of you last night," she confided.

Darcy stared at his cousin intensely, making Anne shift uncomfortably. "Richard told me that you had proposed to her," said Anne. "I hope that she will make a full recovery so that you might marry her."

Darcy blinked, then accepted that the cat had escaped the bag. "What did she say?" he asked, between hope and despair.

Anne looked embarrassed. "Something about you and some kittens—to keep away from them. She is very delirious," Anne added quickly, "and I think she is upset about the death of Charlotte's cat."

Darcy's face fell. He looked almost like he was about to burst out crying.

"At least she is thinking of you," whispered Anne hastily. "She is not very cogent."

No sooner had the words issued from her mouth than there was a cry of dismay from the bed and Anne hurried towards it. Darcy followed and was able to see Elizabeth thrashing about as Mrs Gardiner tried to hold her down while Jane mopped desperately at her sister's forehead with a cool rag.

"The bath!" said Anne, turning to him beseechingly. "I asked the servants to bring it from my room. Can you see what is keeping them? And Dr Grantley! I think he is with Mr Collins."

Darcy hurried out to comply but on returning with the bath, which he had snatched from the hands of three struggling maids, he was sent on his way as Elizabeth was lifted from the bed. The door closed and he was alone in the corridor. He put his ear to the wood and tried to discern what was going on inside by listening to the muffled exclamations. But when Charlotte came along the corridor in search of news of Elizabeth, he was forced to move away. He left Mrs Collins standing on the threshold, wondering aloud whether she should disobey Dr Grantley's injunction to enter the room in order to provide assistance. He walked bleakly away down the hall.

Darcy heard at dinner from the doctor that Elizabeth had passed that particular crisis but was not yet out of the woods. He had spent the afternoon sinking into the depths of despair. The full implications of his attack on Wickham suddenly seemed to settle on him. Richard had saved him from the certainty of having murdered Wickham or the greater folly of sparing George by granting him his request of becoming a vampire. He could only bless his cousin in absentia. But his cousin's action could not absolve him of guilt. Darcy's inhumanity had never been so stark to him. He had been unable to control his primal instinct to attack George. In a way he was also responsible for Elizabeth's current situation. If she should die, he did not think he could bear it. It was all he could do to drag himself to the dining room at seven.

Afterwards, he excused himself early from cards and went to his bedchamber to find Finn. Thus far, his valet had been subsisting on bloody steaks and mislabelled port. Darcy had determined to provide his first instruction to Finn that night, so that he might begin to fend for himself. If nothing else it would keep his mind from dwelling on Elizabeth, at least until he was able to visit her in the wee hours of the morn.

The lesson proved a dismal failure. Although Finn had been content enough to suck on Darcy's veins, he hesitated to put his lips to the skin of any of the peasants they visited.

"They are so dirty, sir!" he shuddered.

Darcy had not even progressed to the use of the awl. Finn had almost fainted when Darcy produced the tool from his coat.

"You do not expect me to stick them with that, do you, sir?" asked Finn in revulsion.

They had returned to the manor house shortly after midnight. Finn, hardly satisfied from their excursion, had immediately sought Darcy's bedchamber to sate himself with the bottled blood and set up the apparatus to refresh the new shipment. Darcy crept along to Elizabeth's chamber.

Opening the door a crack, Darcy saw that Jane was watching over her sister as expected—information passed to him by Anne at dinner. His cousin had been privy to the discussion of Elizabeth's care for the night. The room was in gloom, lit only by a single candle. Darcy opened the door slowly, so as not to introduce any sudden movement into the periphery of Jane's vision. Slinking into the room, he closed the door softly behind him, then took two steps sideways so that he approached the bed shielded by the bed curtains.

He started whispering to Jane, encouraging her to fall asleep. A peek from behind the bed curtains showed her head was nodding. He looked at her directly as he continued the mesmerism. It always seemed more effective that way. Within a minute, she swayed in her chair. Rushing forward, he caught her before she hit the floor. Picking Jane up, Darcy placed her neatly on the sofa and arranged one of the cushions under her head.

He stole back to the bedside and sat in the chair, still warm from Jane's body. Elizabeth lay in her nightgown atop the bedclothes in a stiff pose. Her colour was high, her face puffy, her breathing laboured. A sheen of sweat lay on her upper lip. He reached out to take the hand lying on the covers next to him, her fingers turned upwards into a claw. What could he do but try mesmerism again?

"Elizabeth!" Darcy urged, fully vocalising his whisper. "Stay! Be strong!" And then, feeling this was not enough, "I love you!"

Elizabeth opened a bleary eye and looked towards him. The second lid struggled open. Her eyes were not the shining orbs he so loved. She looked almost foreign to him. He knew she was far gone. He could almost feel her slipping away from him. He pushed the rising tide of panic that welled up in him down. In an instant his mind was made up. She was beyond factitious airs. There was only one way he could help her now. She could never have his children, but that suddenly seemed of such little importance. If he could spend eternity with her, that would be more than enough.

"Elizabeth? Can you hear me?" he asked.

Elizabeth blinked and Darcy felt her fingers contract against his own.

"I need to tell you more about me. Remember how Misty scratched me and I told you it would heal quickly? That is one of the good aspects of being a vampire. You are very ill, Elizabeth. Let me help you now. I believe I can save your life. Are you prepared to be a vampire like me? It is not so bad. We can be together. You can still wander freely in the night."

Darcy waited but there was no reply. She had closed her eyes again and he was not sure if she had drifted off into delirium or sleep. He was about to clasp her hand more tightly to rouse her when her eyes struggled open again. The lips pursed and formed one word. No sound emerged but Darcy had no doubt it was 'no'.

His heart contracted. He leaned forward to rest his head on his arm, closer to her hand. He could smell the fever on her skin. He looked up at her again, a silent plea etched in his face. Her irises darted infinitesimally from side to side. He sensed her agitation, her colossal effort to say something. He strained towards her as her lips formed another word. This time she managed a clear sound, a single word. It was 'God'.

Darcy could not guess her entire meaning. Perhaps she was saying she was ready to go to God. Perhaps she thought he was a creature against God. But she had said 'no' and he knew she was trying to convey her justification.

He felt hollow, enervated, but knew immediately he was being selfish. She did not want immortality or him. But he had mesmerised Jane and was now duty bound to take her place in the vigil.

"I understand," Darcy assured her as he reached for the vinegar-soaked rag and drew it across Elizabeth's brow, hearing her emit a sigh as he did so.

A tiny smile seemed to form at the corners of her lips. Then she relaxed and he knew she had drifted back to the place he had roused her from, halfway between sleep and delirium.

So the hours ticked by. Darcy sat like a statue watching Elizabeth draw each painful breath. When she grew restless he bathed her brow. Eventually he heard a sound in the hallway. Picking Jane up, he returned her to the chair, slumping her forward onto the bed. He moved swiftly into the dark corner nearest the door as the latch creaked open. Mrs Gardiner entered the room, leaving the door ajar. She pulled her dressing gown around her as she skirted the end of the bed.

She reached Jane and began to shake her shoulder, hissing, "Jane! You fell asleep!"

As Jane roused and began her apology, Darcy slipped silently out of the door.

Darcy walked back to his chamber, took his slippers off and lay down on the covers in dark night-wandering clothes, staring into the canopy. Finn had already retired to the dressing room. The sun rose behind the heavy brocade curtains but still Darcy did not sleep. He felt that if he closed his eyes, Elizabeth might never open hers again. How long he lay awake he knew not. He seemed to have entered some type of delirium himself.

Finally Darcy came to his senses when he heard a high-pitched shriek. He shot out of bed as if scalded, thinking perhaps it was Jane keening. He arrived in the hallway without any memory of having travelled there. He sprinted towards the guest wing and Elizabeth's chamber and then stopped suddenly as another peel pierced his eardrums. The shrieking was not coming from the guest wing, but from behind him. He turned to see the door of his cousin Anne's chamber open.

In a moment he had burst into the room. The ungodly sound was coming from his aunt Catherine who was standing just inside the door. Turning to the bed, afraid some calamity had overtaken his cousin in the night, he was not confronted by the sight of Anne's corpse. Stretched out on top of the bedclothes, still in his breeches and shirtsleeves, lay Colonel Fitzwilliam. He was propped up on his elbows, his head tilted back in what Darcy recognised immediately as a pose of exasperation. From behind him, clutching his shoulders peeked Anne.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*winged—shot in the arm or shoulder, implying it is a superficial wound.

*boxing the watch—harassing night watchmen, a pastime of rich drunken Regency youths.

*all in one piece—with no major injuries ie not missing a limb, but suggesting there was the potential for grave harm

*the cat had escaped the bag—his secret was out


	37. A cryptic encounter

**Happy Easter, everyone!**

 **Suggestions for the title of chapter 36 were:**

 **"Choices" or "Finicky Finn" by** ** _Deanna27_** **,**

 **"survival (or vegetate) in suspense" or "helplessness" by** ** _nessy22_** **,**

 **"Tales from the dead" by** ** _Dizzy-Lizzy,_**

 **"In God's hand", "Elizabeth's choice", "To be or not to be... a vampire ?" by** ** _Laure Saint-Yves_**

 **I decided to go with "Things that go bump in the night", suggested by phyloxena for Chapter 28.**

* * *

 **Chapter 37**

Spring turned to summer. The bees buzzed, crops ripened, and travel in an open carriage was a delight. The Gardiners journeyed northwards on their first holiday since their honeymoon, leaving their children at Longbourn in the care of the younger Bennets. They thought the experience would do the clearly bored younger sisters good: distract Mary from her proselytising—much increased since Lydia's return—and make Lydia and Kitty think of someone other than themselves.

With the Gardiners travelled the elder Bennet sisters, Jane and Elizabeth. The ostensible reason for taking Elizabeth on their journey was to complete her recovery. Mr Gardiner declared he wished to put the roses back in her cheeks. Mrs Gardiner thought there could not be a better place for it than the wilds of her native Derbyshire. Their itinerary was to be open-ended. Mrs Gardiner hoped to visit the village of Lambton where many of her childhood friends still lived. She had even talked of going as far as The Lakes. But Mr Gardiner and his wife were playing a very deep game*.

Of course, Elizabeth would not travel without her dear Jane who had been tireless in nursing her sister back to health. So the tourists* set off, taking the journey in easy stages. Elizabeth did not think the slow pace necessary. She felt in much better health than during the journey back from Kent but she did not complain.

After an uncomfortable fortnight at Rosings following Mr Gardiner's return there—a fortnight made awkward for the visitors by the conflict that had preoccupied their hosts—Dr Grantley had declared Elizabeth sufficiently recovered to travel back to London. In truth, the good doctor was keen to return to his own domicile. He was not enjoying the atmosphere at Rosings either. The Earl of Matlock had arrived, a man who reminded Mr Gardiner forcibly of Henry the Eighth. Not that they got to see much of him, but they were continually reminded of his presence by the reverberations of his raised voice in the woodwork, a bass that seemed to shake their very bones. Charlotte had given them an inkling of what was going forward before she and her husband had been banished by Lady Catherine to the parsonage at Failford a week after the upset—Miss de Bourgh had fallen in love with her cousin who happened to be the earl's second son, none other than Colonel Fitzwilliam. Mariah had been sufficiently recovered by the time of Charlotte's departure to return to Meryton with her father. There was certainly no room for them in Failford's tiny parsonage.

During their final week at Rosings, the Gardiners and their nieces had felt almost under siege in The Green Room. Since the earl's arrival, they had ceased to be invited to the dining room—a snub Mr Gardiner could only be thankful for. Their meals arrived on trays and they ate on a Pembroke table in Elizabeth's room. After Elizabeth's fever broke, both the ladies slept in the Green Room, taking turns to tend her coughing fits during the night. Mr Darcy occasionally poked his nose in and apologised for everything—the sudden change in the weather, the cold collations*, Miss de Bourgh's absence and his own preoccupation with the rebuilding of the parsonage—everything, in short, but the actual conflict. During these visits, Mr Gardiner invariably saw Mr Darcy's eyes flick to Elizabeth, whether she was in the bed, or sitting by the window stroking her kitten, or eating at the table with them. His niece seemed not to notice Mr Darcy, her thoughts always turned inward in his presence. Knowing of Mr Darcy's failed proposal, the situation had vexed Mr Gardiner. He hoped for a resolution between them that never came. If Elizabeth had not been so ill, Mr Gardiner would have been tempted to have words with her. Finally Dr Grantley had given them his blessing to leave Rosings.

After an unplanned stay of another week in London following a slight setback with Elizabeth's health, they had travelled onto Hertfordshire, where it was hoped that she would benefit from the country air. They found Mr Bennet very glad to see his favourite daughter but still not on speaking terms with his youngest. Mr Gardiner hoped that Elizabeth's influence would help to heal the breach. He had enlisted her aid soon after assessing the lack of progress in family relations at Longbourn. Mr Bennet had been taking his meals alone in the study. In the end, Elizabeth's presence was enough. Mr Bennet returned to the table for his visitors and stayed there for his elder daughters after the Gardiners returned to London.

It was then, on their first night back in residence at Cheapside, that Mr Gardiner finally divulged Mr Darcy's proposal to Elizabeth to his wife. Mrs Gardiner had been simultaneously astonished and gratified—a member of the Ton interested in her niece! She was convinced Elizabeth would make Mr Darcy a wonderful wife. He was terribly handsome, though a little pale. All he needed was a little 'lightening up' and Elizabeth—once she was restored to her former gaiety and wit—was just the lady to do it! It did not take Mrs Gardiner long to think of the Derbyshire scheme.

Mr Gardiner had been relieved to find upon returning to his business that the young man who he had taken under his wing not a year ago had proved remarkably adept at keeping the fort with minimal supervision, even finding new customers. Fortunately there had been a gap in the arrivals of his ships. When Mrs Gardiner suggested they journey north, Mr Gardiner immediately saw the wisdom of it. Better connections opened doors and could potentially advance his business in ways that his years of hard work could not. After the arrival of his next ship there would likely be another gap which he might take advantage of.

Elizabeth had been writing to her aunt of the progress with her health every week. There had been some fear raised by the Bennet's own physician that Elizabeth might be developing a consumptive habit*. The offer was made, cast chiefly for the Gardiners' own benefit as a type of second honeymoon. It was not hard to win over Elizabeth with talk of the Peak District—its rugged beauty and its caves. Elizabeth accepted with the proviso that Jane came too. The only rub* had been the Gardiner's aged nanny, who had been Mrs Gardiner's nanny as a child. Poor Nanny Ingleside had been severely fatigued by her sole guardianship of the children during the Gardiner's absence in Kent and hinted darkly that she feared a second stint might exacerbate her dropsy*. The scheme to leave the children at Longbourn was hatched and nanny was told she could put her feet up in Gracechurch St and knit instead. In a matter of weeks it was settled and plans were made.

Thus the tourists had arrived by easy stages at Lambton. Mrs Gardiner's talk of going as far as The Lakes had been merely to ensure Elizabeth got no wind of the Gardiners' true intentions. Their knowledge of Mr Darcy's proposal had not been mentioned. They had merely gone so far as to establish that Elizabeth was not averse to her erstwhile suitor. In her letters, she had deemed him a kind man who had gone beyond the call of duty in helping Lydia but said nothing more.

The first few days in Lambton were spent innocently enough, visiting friends and making new acquaintances. Lizzy and Jane both declared themselves charmed by the little village. Lizzy was enchanted by the antiquity of the old inn where there were staying. Tuesday came, bright and sunny, and Mr and Mrs Gardiner deemed it a lovely day for a drive. A beautiful open barouche had been hired for the day and the ladies stepped into it in their best bonnets. It was only after they set out, as they were crossing the river Wye on a magnificent 14th-century stone-arched bridge, that Mrs Gardiner slyly announced they were to take advantage of a public day at a local estate.

"I don't know if I ever mentioned how close Lambton is to Mr Darcy's estate, Elizabeth, but I thought you might like to see it. Especially after meeting him in Kent. I know I would. In all the years I lived here, I never once attended a public day. Just when I got old enough to be interested, old Mr Darcy stopped holding them for several years after his wife's death."

"You are not talking of Pemberley?" asked Elizabeth in consternation.

"Yes. Did I not mention it is only five miles from Lambton?" asked Mrs Gardiner, "—though it is not an easy walk, being uphill most of the way."

"I am not sure that I am up to much walking today," suggested Lizzy. "Perhaps we could go instead for a drive? The countryside around here is very beautiful."

"Oh! I would like to see Pemberley also!" enthused Jane. "Mr Bingley said such delightful things of it! And Caroline too!"

"I am a little worried about the weather," continued Lizzy doggedly. "Mrs Carruthers thought it would rain today. Her rheumatism was bothering her."

"It is a perfectly fine day!" laughed Mr Gardiner. "And since when did a little rain bother you, Lizzy? We can always put the top up!"

"Please, Lizzy?" begged Jane.

Lizzy knew better than to persist against such determined opposition. She settled back into her seat and tried to enjoy the passing countryside, all the while feeling that, having rejected Mr Darcy's suit, she had no right to be visiting Pemberley at all. She could only hope that he was not in residence, as many families were not on public days.

When they turned in at the gatehouse, the ribbons tied to the hat of the gatekeeper left them in no doubt that they had arrived at the right place and the public day was going forward as expected, whatever Mrs Carruthers thought of the weather. The gatekeeper bid them good day, tipped his hat at the coachman whom he obviously knew, and advised them to put the top up if they were fearful of heights, for the road down to the manor house was a steep one. Once the occupants of the barouche all agreed they would rather enjoy the view, the coachman flicked his reins and set off at a cautious pace, his hand resting on the brake as they reached the crest of the hill.

"Oh!" cried Mrs Gardiner and Jane as the valley opened up before them and the manor house came into view—a graceful and magnificent building in the neoclassical style, reflected in the calm waters of a decorative lake.

"It is a palace," breathed Jane.

"Is it not beautiful?" smiled Mrs Gardiner, catching Lizzy's eye.

Lizzy could only agree with a nod. A lump had formed in her throat. She was overcome with the sight of Pemberley. It quite put Longbourn, and indeed Netherfield, in the shade. But there seemed to be something humiliating about having to endure visiting this place, of which she might have been mistress, as a tourist.

Of course she had known Mr Darcy was rich and of an ancient family but she had been quite determined that such material considerations would not sway her when she thought him rude and disreputable in Hertfordshire. It was somewhat ironic that she had only begun to truly understand Mr Darcy after rejecting his suit. But now that she knew that he was a far better 'man' than she had ever given him credit for, she was still unsure if she could ever contemplate marrying a vampire.

They arrived in the carriage sweep and descended in front of the house from whence their coachman was directed to park on a grassed area with many other vehicles. A footman gave them a ticket to enter the house on the next tour, which did not begin for almost an hour. He suggested they walk freely in the gardens in the meantime, handing them a map and pointing out several features of interest including a folly.

"Is this the River Wye?" asked Mr Gardiner, pointing to the map.

"The Derwent, sir," replied the footman.

"Well, there you are ladies!" jested Mr Gardiner. "Mr Darcy has an excellent river running through his estate. Has he ever spoken to you of fishing?"

Jane and Lizzy shook their heads.

"Now, now, Edward," returned Mrs Gardiner, playing along. "Is it a topic a gentleman would typically broach to gain a lady's attention?"

"Do the ladies know Mr Darcy?" asked the footman politely.

"Yes," replied Mr Gardiner jovially. "They met him in Hertfordshire, when he was staying with Mr Bingley at Netherfield. It is only a matter of miles from their father's estate. Is that not so, Jane?"

"Three miles," agreed Jane.

"Is Mr Darcy in residence?" asked Mr Gardiner casually.

"Yes, sir. Though I do not know where he is at the moment, sir. He generally keeps out of the way on public days. If you give me your name I can pass it on to the housekeeper," said the footman, withdrawing a pencil from his waistcoat.

"Ah! Best write, Bennet," said Mr Gardiner, "Jane and Elizabeth."

"I'll see if I can have the information passed on to Mr Darcy, sir," said the footman, scrawling the names on the back of the pile of maps.

"Thank you!" said Mr Gardiner. "I'm sure the ladies would be very happy to see him again. He rescued Elizabeth from a fire!"

The footman looked astonished. Elizabeth was embarrassed. On hearing that Mr Darcy was indeed in residence, she had hoped to pass the day without his notice. Now she felt her uncle was forcing a familiarity she had lost all claim to.

Mrs Gardiner squeezed her husband's arm, feeling that he had perhaps gone too far. With a polite 'good day to you' to the footman, she led him off in the direction of the garden. Elizabeth looked suspiciously after her aunt and uncle.

The party walked in the direction of the river but soon diverted to some garden beds, when Mrs Gardiner pointed out that the round trip to the river might be too much for Elizabeth to execute in less than an hour. Mrs Gardiner had not failed to notice that her niece looked unhappy and attributed it to exertion. As the sun disappeared behind a cloud they found a gardener who was more than happy to enlighten Mr Gardiner on the name of a plant he did not recognise. While the gardener went on to explain a little of the garden's design, Elizabeth wandered off, convinced of a conspiracy and in no mood for company.

Mrs Gardiner occasionally glanced anxiously in Elizabeth's direction while Jane and Mr Gardiner listened to the groundsman attentively. Her niece was only a matter of two hundred yards away, heading for a statue at the end of an avenue when the wind whipped up, making Mrs Gardiner clutch her bonnet.

"Ach! Look at that!" said the gardener, eyeing the sky balefully. "My wife thought there would be a storm this afternoon! You'd best be getting back to the house! Some of these Derbyshire storms can be wild ones!"

At that very moment several gusts hit them in quick succession, making Mrs Gardiner stumble. A door on a nearby garden shed slammed shut with a loud bang and the man ran quickly to secure it. Some potted plants toppled over in a wheelbarrow.

"Elizabeth!" yelled Mrs Gardiner, clutching her skirts.

Elizabeth meanwhile was taking stock of her surroundings. Having reached the statue, she saw the massive stone folly not far away, built like a Temple of Apollo. Mr Darcy seemed to like doing things on a grand scale. On hearing her aunt's cry, she pointed in its direction, for she could see the only shelter near her relatives was the tiny garden shed.

"Here!" she yelled to summon them, but her voice was swept away with the wind.

The rain began to fall in fat droplets. Picking up her skirts, Lizzy motioned for her relatives to follow her and ran off. She arrived at the folly only slightly damp, just as the rain began to come down in earnest. In her unfit condition, it had not taken her long to be completely puffed. Pausing at the top of the steps to catch her breath, she was dismayed to see on turning around no sign of her relatives. She could only conclude they had taken shelter in the tiny shed with the groundsman.

At first Lizzy congratulated herself on finding better shelter than her relatives but she soon saw her mistake as the storm grew in vehemence—the rain slanted in and the high portico afforded her little protection. She drew herself as close as she could against the inner wall but it was no good—her boots and the hem of her gown were soon soaked and she could see that due to the wicking of the fabric, her gown was becoming wetter by the moment. She looked about the portico for some better shelter; considered climbing into one of the niches beside the goddess or nymph that resided there. But as Lizzy viewed the direction of the rain beating down on her, she thought it would be slanting less inwards further round the structure. She moved round the portico towards the river, seeking respite. That was when she saw the door that led to the interior of the folly. She tried it. It was not fast and Elizabeth slipped thankfully inside.

The interior was cold and dim but not completely dark—the room lit by some small high windows. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, Elizabeth looked about her. It was only when she saw the caskets topped with leaden images of praying knights that she realised that the folly was in fact a tomb. Elizabeth supposed the caskets had been moved there from some older site—a church or chapel long gone. She walked towards the knights to better appreciate their long, bearded faces clad in chainmail. The effigies on the caskets were very fine mediaeval ones, attesting to the nobility of the Darcy heritage. She supposed they must be from the time of the crusades; there was certainly something oriental about how their features were rendered.

Lizzy took off her right glove and was just stretching out her hand to touch the cheek of the nearest knight when she heard a sound behind her. Turning, her heart stopped with a thump, for before her was Mr Darcy.

A stab of pure terror gripped her momentarily. She was alone in a tomb with a vampire. Her hand flew instinctively to her throat and she took a step backwards.

"Forgive me," said Darcy softly. "I did not mean to startle you. I thought at first I was dreaming."

"Please forgive my trespass," said Elizabeth nervously, backing away and trying to determine the expression in his hooded eyes; whether there was any of the wild gleam she had seen in them before he had attacked her at Hunsford. In the gloom it was impossible to tell. "You must wonder what I am doing here. I was touring the estate with my relatives when the storm broke and sought shelter," said Elizabeth, gesturing to the outside to disguise another step taken backwards.

Darcy took a step closer. "You seem to have got separated from them."

"I am very sorry to disturb you," Elizabeth continued hurriedly. "We must have run in opposite directions. I believe they have taken shelter in a gardener's shed. I think the rain is easing. I will join them directly. Good day."

And without further ado, she dived for the door.

Darcy was quicker. Elizabeth's right hand had barely grasped the handle when he caught her gloved left hand.

"You cannot go out there. It is pouring. You will catch your death. Please stay. Let me apologise profusely for what happened at Hunsford. I promise nothing like it will ever happen again. You are safe from me. I had written a letter to apologise but had no chance to deliver it before the Parsonage caught fire. The few times when I was alone with you afterwards, you were too ill to converse. I considered giving my letter to your sister to deliver to you once you had recovered sufficiently. But after what happened with Lydia, the terrible way my relatives ignored you once Anne and Richard were discovered... Have you fully recovered?"

Elizabeth relaxed. She could see his eyes now and knew him to be sincere. "Thank you. Yes, I have recovered—not completely, but I get a little stronger every day. I heard the full story of how you saved me and Mariah; Charlotte told me. I thank you with all my heart. As to Lydia, we were only glad to have her returned to us unharmed. She told us herself she had gone willingly with Lieutenant Wickham. We were all fooled by his charm. Did your valet survive?"

Darcy had the grace to blush. He longed to tell the truth but it seemed a gulf now separated them again. "Yes. It was bad, but he survived and has made a complete recovery. It sounds like you have lost much of your memory of events."

"It is all a muddle in my head," confided Elizabeth. "I remember waking at the parsonage with the room filled with smoke, then waking again at Rosings. But the time when I had the fever is largely lost to me. I had weird dreams..." She blushed.

Darcy dearly wanted to ask her what type of dreams; whether he had inhabited any of them, but it seemed impertinent.

Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably. "I beg your pardon for intruding. It was never my intention to trespass on your domain. My aunt and uncle had talked of going as far as The Lakes—the Gardiners, you remember them?—but my uncle's business curtailed the time available and they chose to come to Derbyshire instead. My aunt grew up in Lambton. She was very eager to show us Pemberley when she discovered there was to be a public day," Elizabeth said, repeating what she now realised was likely an elaborate fiction after her uncle's transparent conversation with the footman. How much did her aunt and uncle know? Had she talked in her delirium during her illness? "I am very sorry."

"Do not be," said Darcy, thinking it would be too forward to say he was very glad to see her again. "I have only been back here a matter of weeks. I did not visit last year. I stayed in London for the summer for the first time in my life after my return from the Continent.

"For a while I was unsure if I would ever visit Pemberley again. The servants here knew me very well, you see, particularly my housekeeper, from before I was changed. Mrs Reynolds used to even scold me when I came home from university during the summer for sleeping in—I got used to town ways. What was she going to say about me sleeping all morning and not wanting to go out during the day? But Netherfield helped. If the Bingleys could believe that I suffered terrible migraines because of the light, I could not see why the same ruse would not work here. I've always loved Derbyshire—the wildness of it. It was good to see some other places—London, Cambridge and Vienna; they have their charms. But my heart will always be here. I decided that if I must be a monster, I would return to the wilds of Derbyshire and be a monster here."

Elizabeth bit her lip, realising he must have registered her fear upon encountering him. It seemed a poor way to treat him after he had rescued her—a reversion to her earlier thoughts about him.

"You were lucky to find me here today, though," continued Darcy, attempting to drag himself from the maudlin tendency of his thoughts. "Georgie went to my aunt at Matlock, to stay overnight. I was tempted to go with her. Only my housekeeper's reproving looks kept me here. My parents were always very actively involved in public days. I am dreading having to take tea with some of the visitors this afternoon."

Having made their explanations, they stared at each other for a moment, unsure what to say next.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" Darcy finally ventured.

"Tea?" asked Elizabeth in bewilderment, looking about.

Darcy chuckled. "I suppose it is a bit gothic out here with the old caskets. Come into the next room. I have a coal stove there. At the very least it is warmer."

She followed him through a door into a crypt of more modern design with vaults let into the wall, some empty and others capped by sandstone memorials. Once she had stepped fully inside, Lizzy could see that two of the occupied crypts had fresh vases of flowers in front of them. She peered into the yawning mouths of the empty ones as she passed them, wondering if she would see a pillow or perhaps a blanket. An armchair and some other evidence of habitation stood in a corner near a stained glass window with religious and heraldic motifs. It was partly covered with a makeshift curtain.

"Do you live here?" asked Lizzy as politely as she could.

"Live here?" repeated Darcy with some incredulity and then, remembering all the fables that surrounded the habits of vampires, realised her mistake.

"I live in the main house, and I sleep in a bed not in a mausoleum. I came to visit my mother and father privately while the circus went on."

"The circus?"

"The public day," he explained sheepishly. "Please take a seat," he said, indicating the armchair. He shifted some books from a small table that Lizzy belatedly realised was a milking stool and folded his long legs to sit down upon it. He looked slightly ridiculous sitting with his knees much higher than his hips and Lizzy wished she'd had the foresight to suggest they swap places before ensconcing herself in the huge chair while he sat, looking uncomfortable, at her feet.

"Excuse the crude furnishings," Darcy continued. Reaching out, he fetched a teapot—a very elegant teapot for a crypt—then poured some water into it from a kettle. "I have carried a few things down here over the years to make it a little more comfortable, but it is not set up for entertaining."

"I thought you were dreading having to take tea?" suggested Elizabeth impishly.

"It depends on the company," Darcy smiled. "There is no milk, I am afraid."

"Thank you, I can take it without."

He poured and passed a cup and saucer to her, a pretty old-fashioned toile pattern with a gold edge. When she took it, he poured another for himself into a cup with a broken handle.

"This is a pretty pattern," Elizabeth observed, turning the saucer over. "My God! It is Sèvres!" she exclaimed and then blushed, for she recalled disdaining her cousin Mr Collins looking at the hallmarks on the china at Longbourn during his visit.

Darcy laughed. "It was a favourite of mine when I was small. I rescued it when Mrs Reynolds tried to throw it out."

"Throw it out?" exclaimed Elizabeth. "Whatever for?

In answer, Darcy only turned the broken handle of his cup towards her and pretended to toast her.

"Oh!" said Elizabeth. "Not a full set anymore?"

"I'm afraid not," said Darcy. "It was my grandmother's. So how long are you in Derbyshire?" he asked, a flicker of hope beginning to burn in his breast.

"Not too many more days," said Elizabeth, and she immediately saw his face fall. "We have already visited The Peaks. Lambton was our last stop. My uncle is expecting a ship in. When it returns, they will message him. His men know enough to get the ship quickly unloaded and the goods stowed, but the distribution is complicated and my uncle supervises that himself."

"That is a shame. I have invited the Bingleys and was hoping to introduce you to my sister."

"The Bingleys?" said Elizabeth.

Darcy could not help but detect that the information was not pleasing to her. "You remember the Bingleys?"

"Yes, of course," said Elizabeth, wondering if she should say more. "It is just that Jane is travelling with me and I am worried if she could cope with seeing Mr Bingley again. After he left Netherfield so abruptly, she was quite heartbroken."

Darcy remembered hearing Jane's sigh when he had shifted her in the Green Room. Seeing his chances of Elizabeth accepting his invitation slipping away, he decided to make a full confession. "I can tell you that Mr Bingley returned her feelings. Perhaps it is fate they have met again."

"You do not understand," said Elizabeth. "His sisters do not approve of the match. Jane tried to visit them in London and they repulsed her."

"I do not know anything of what occurred in London," said Darcy, "but Bingley is his own man. I know he has been pining for your sister since he left Hertfordshire. He was under the impression that your sister was being courted by another gentleman. Did that come to nothing?"

"That is an utter falsehood! Who told you that?"

Darcy pursed his lips. "Perhaps I should say no more, but Bingley still mentions Jane. He has not forgotten her."

Elizabeth fumed silently for a moment before gulping her tea.

"Perhaps, I am also a little at fault," admitted Darcy. "I did not wish any heartbreak upon your sister but there was a time when I hoped Bingley might marry my sister Georgiana."

"People should marry for love, not for their family's notion of a good match," returned Elizabeth hotly.

"I beg your pardon, but though the Bingley sisters would have thought it a good match, my aunt and uncle did not think so. Perhaps I erred in dropping some hints to Caroline; I was driven by expediency not ambition."

He paused for a moment, biting his lip, then looked up. "I know I can rely on you never to repeat this to anyone, but what George Wickham did to your sister, he also did to mine. If Georgie was with child, I needed to find her a husband quickly, and one who would treat the child as his own. I would not have disdained Bingley as a brother-in-law. In the end it proved unnecessary and I hoped Bingley would follow his heart. I was surprised he did not return to Netherfield. Perhaps he feels awkward about the amount of time that has elapsed since the Netherfield ball."

Lizzy was very angry on behalf of her sister's heart but the news of Lieutenant Wickham's additional perfidy quite took the wind out of her sails. "I am glad things worked out for your sister," she said more softly. "If you think Mr Bingley can be trusted to not break my sister's heart again, I would be very glad to see him if he should arrive before we leave."

There was an uncomfortable silence during which Darcy hoped Elizabeth might say something more—of Lydia. There had been an intonation in the 'I am glad things worked out for your sister' that suggested that Lydia had not been so lucky. He was a little hurt that Elizabeth had chosen not to confide in him, particularly after he had let her into his inner circle by speaking of his own sister's shame. But what could he expect? He was a vampire. She had rejected him. He regretted letting down his guard.

Elizabeth sensed Darcy's discomfort, wondered what she had done to upset him and tried to make amends. "Pemberley is very beautiful," she observed.

Darcy was affronted. She had gone back to speaking to him like a stranger, a tourist. "What were you expecting?" he said, jumping up and folding his arms. "A castle with bats?"

Elizabeth set down her cup and stood up also. "I am sorry," she said, touching his arm lightly. "It was meant as a compliment. Please know that you have always interested me, from the time I discovered your interest in chemistry. I had some mistaken impressions of you and you took me by surprise with your declaration. Please know that it was never my intention to marry; so you were starting from a difficult position regardless of anything else. I had plenty of time to think about you when I was recuperating. It is rather ironic, but the thing that really came out in your favour was what Lieutenant Wickham said of you."

"Lieutenant Wickham?" repeated Darcy, confused. When had Wickham ever said anything good about him?

"He used to speak quite a lot about you," continued Elizabeth, "whenever he visited Longbourn. He was quite obsessed with you. At the time I wondered how much of it was true because there were inconsistencies... and Miss King. Then, after Lydia, I had to revise my whole opinion. He was much blacker than I had supposed, and you had shown your gallantry in rescuing both me and Lydia. In short, I spent my time unravelling his stories, like a tangled ball of wool. You are someone I admire immensely."

Her eyes were shining up at him and Darcy felt his heart swell. "Are you saying you could contemplate marrying me after all?"

Elizabeth took a step away and let her hand fall. "Ah! Well... as to that... I am not sure how you manage your condition but I can see that you try to exercise restraint. I realised you were initially trying to keep away from me for my own good. Perhaps my proximity at Rosings... Do you really think it is a good idea?"

Having had similar misgivings, Darcy understood her hesitation completely. His need for her—more than just her blood, her companionship—warred again with his better sense of judgement.

"Would you be willing to put it to the test?" he asked at last.

"What do you mean?"

"I would like to invite you and your relatives to stay with me here at Pemberley for the duration of your stay in Derbyshire. Would you be willing to give me a chance to court you properly?"

Elizabeth hesitated "I don't know. Did you tell my uncle of your proposal? I'm very suspicious of their reasons for coming here."

"I'm afraid I did," replied Darcy. "Only as a way of explaining my interference with Lydia's retrieval."

"But don't you see? It's not fair. My aunt and uncle will likely put a lot of pressure on me to accept. I can hardly tell them of my real reasons for hesitating."

"Please, Elizabeth, I can be discreet. I will merely treat you as a friend when in company. Besides, once Bingley turns up, all eyes will likely be on him and Jane. He is very demonstrative."

Elizabeth laughed. If nothing else, she felt she owed it to Jane to give her relationship with Bingley another chance.

"Very well," she said.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

tourists*—1772, "one who makes a journey for pleasure, stopping here and there" (originally especially a travel-writer), from tour (n.)

A deep game*—a reference to cards where someone's true intentions are not obvious.

cold collations*—a light informal meal, similar to a ploughman's lunch or platter

A consumptive habit—tuberculosis

Rub—problem

Dropsy—an archaic term for oedema


	38. Midnight Bell

**Thanks** **to alix33 for flagging more of those pesky apostrophes. If I had to think of them, I'd get them right. There are down sides to autocorrect :(**

 **Suggestions for the title of Chapter 37 were:**

 **"Teaming and Scheming" by _Chica de Los Ojas,_**

 **"Tales in the Crypt" by** ** _Deanna27_** **,**

 **"A cryptic encounter" by _Laure Saint-Yves_ ,**

 **"Shelter from the Storm" by _nanciellen_ ,**

 **"Dead and Undead," and "Lingering Injuries" by _Windchimed_ ,**

 **"On A Slow Road", "Much Brooding,", "Much brewing",**

 **"Tea for Two and Two for Tea", "Among the Dead" by _beaty_ ,**

 **There were number of good ones there including "Tales in the Crypt" by _Deanna27_ , "Shelter from the Storm" by _nanciellen_ , and "Much brewing" by _beaty_.**

 **My favourite was "A cryptic encounter", as first suggested, by _Laure Saint-Yves,_**

* * *

 **Chapter 38 Midnight Bell**

Having reached their agreement, Darcy and Elizabeth reverted to small talk* as they finished their tea. The rain continued to pour down outside, occasionally lashing against the stained glass window. Elizabeth was truly grateful to be inside. But finally she coughed and Darcy noticed her wet shoes.

"You really should take off your boots," he observed. "We can set them by the stove. Here! I have a spare pair of stockings in the pocket of my great coat."

Elizabeth had to admit her feet were feeling like two cold stone blocks attached to her legs. She knew what her aunt would have to say about that. "Do you always carry a spare pair of stockings?" she enquired solicitously.

"Finn looks after me a little too well," responded Darcy before noticing the twitch at the corner of Elizabeth's lips. "I believe you are teasing me. Do you think it unmanly to carry spare stockings?"

"Oh, no!" averred Elizabeth. "I praise your valet's forethought. But if you do not like being teased I think you should reconsider your choice of sweetheart," she ended with a smile.

"I think I can stand a bit of teasing," Darcy returned, smiling back.

Elizabeth had a little difficulty undoing the shrunken, wet leather laces. After eventually prising the first double knot undone, she withdrew her wet and stained stockinged foot from the boot only to become uncomfortably aware that Mr Darcy was staring at it. Her foot disappeared quickly beneath her skirts.

"I beg your pardon," said Darcy, turning slightly to the side and tilting his head up to stare fixedly at the ceiling.

"These are my favourite walking boots," explained Elizabeth, embarrassed by the grubby stockings which the damp had stained near the toe. She turned her body to the wall so that she might untie her garter to roll her stocking down.

"Walking is a very healthful exercise," observed Darcy, who had noted merely how the wet stocking had clung to her dainty and shapely foot.

The borrowed stockings were ridiculously large but thankfully dry. Having effected the change, Elizabeth turned back towards Darcy and drew her feet up under her skirts onto the seat of the chair, to encourage their thawing.

Darcy searched his mind desperately for a conversational gambit. He discarded a query on the health of Elizabeth's family as possibly impertinent, concluding it might be viewed as an attempt to discover Lydia's condition. "I hope your aunt and uncle are well?" he finally ventured.

"Yes."

"And Mrs Collins' sister?"

"Mariah? Yes, she has recovered completely. I feel very humbled that it is I who have remained invalidish—I always prided myself on my regular exercise."

"You were unlucky to get an infection. Perhaps you also inhaled more smoke than Mariah during your exertions to save her. I don't know if you remember, but you fought me off at the window of the parsonage; would not let me save you until I had extracted Mariah."

"I remember," said Elizabeth as one of her half-forgotten memories resolved on his words. "After I realised the parsonage was on fire, I remember trying to wake her. She was quite determined not to get up. I suppose the smoke had affected her, as it did me. It makes you feel lethargic, saps your will away. I do not know if I would have woken without Misty. She scratched me."

"Was that the name of Charlotte's cat?"

"Yes. She was a very smart cat. I miss her. Charlotte gave me one of her kittens. She is already queen of the barn at Longbourn, a great mouser*. The milkmaids make a great fuss of her."

Darcy smiled sadly, remembering how the cat had stood sentinel on his many midnight visits to the parsonage.

"Thank you again for rescuing me," continued Elizabeth. "I do not know what I would have done if you had not been at hand. Charlotte was so upset that I had come to harm when I was staying with her. She was sure she had checked the servant had made everything safe and tidy in the kitchen."

Again Darcy felt the terrible guilt of being hailed as Elizabeth's saviour when he had contributed to the whole horrible mess—in not dealing decisively with Wickham earlier; in not watching him more closely. He bit his lip and frowned. "Your uncle did not tell you then?"

"Tell me what?"

"George Wickham was responsible for the fire at the parsonage."

"George?" repeated Lizzy incredulously. "He could not have been! He was in Brighton at the time!"

"No, he was at Rosings. He came there to extort more money from me. He had his friend Denny—one of the ensigns—set the fire. Denny died in the flames."

Lizzy went pale and shook her head. Despite his poor character, she had thought Lieutenant Wickham her friend, and Denny too. "Why would they do such a thing?" she asked weakly.

"George thought I had reneged on my agreement to cover his debts and purchase a commission in a proper regiment for him. He hoped to apply a little more pressure on me."

"But to raze the parsonage and thereby kill his own friend? It seems incredible!"

"I do not think he intended to kill Denny or even you. Likely something went wrong. Maybe the fire burnt more avidly then they intended and Denny got trapped. I do not know. I do not think George had a murderous character. He was just always very careless of everyone's welfare; even his own. He did not weigh risks very well."

"How is it that I heard nothing of this?" asked Lizzy in bewilderment.

"I hid the truth even from my aunt," admitted Darcy. "If she had discovered the parsonage was deliberately torched, she would not have been satisfied till she saw the perpetrator swinging from a hangman's noose. I had good reasons for tidying the matter up quietly myself.

"Unfortunately, George complicated things by running off with Lydia. Richard told me the full story afterwards. After the parsonage burnt down, George absconded—went back to Brighton as if nothing had happened. But Colonel Forster was having none of it. George had gone off with Denny to London as a courier but returned alone. Apparently George had told some cock and bull tale* of Denny's having gone off on a spree in London from which he did not return. Colonel Forster thought it very out of character for Denny whose mother was reliant on his income. The colonel had George thrown in the lock-up until Denny turned up. Of course, George knew that was never going to happen, so he enlisted Lydia's help."

"Ah!" said Elizabeth sadly. "That makes much more sense than Lydia's tale that George had fallen madly in love with her. He had never showed more than a passing interest in her in Hertfordshire and Lydia seemed a poor choice in view of his previous preference for heiresses."

"Exactly," confirmed Darcy.

"Oh, Lydia!" sighed Elizabeth. "And poor Mrs Denny! She has lost her son and his income and will never know what became of him."

"I did what I could to redress that by offering her a pension," said Darcy guiltily.

"Oh, how good of you! But did she not think that a little strange? How did you explain your involvement?"

"In much the same way I explained it to your uncle—that Wickham was my father's godson. It was all arranged through the agency of Colonel Forster."

"Was Denny the only son?"

"The only child."

"How terrible," said Elizabeth shuddering.

"He might have been killed in the war," offered Darcy.

"At least Mrs Denny would have had the comfort of knowing he died with honour if that was so. But this—she will always hold out the hope that her son might walk back in the door."

Darcy acknowledged this was likely true with a nod. Before he could pursue the conversation further, a noise was heard in the outer crypt and a footman appeared at the inner door carrying an umbrella. He stopped suddenly with a look of surprise on his face on finding that Darcy was not alone. It was Fletcher.

"I beg your pardon, sir. Mrs Reynolds sent me down," said the footman. "She wants you to come back to the manor house for tea."

Darcy sighed. "This," he said turning to Elizabeth with some irony, "is the problem with old family retainers. They think they are better attuned to family values and tradition than you are."

Elizabeth smiled sympathetically.

"Very well, Fletcher," said Darcy. "This is Miss Elizabeth Bennet who is visiting for the day. She got caught in the rain. I believe her relatives may be taking refuge in the nearby gardener's hut."

Arrangements were soon made for the whole party's transferral to Darcy's carriage, which was waiting nearby. At Darcy's insistence, Fletcher was entrusted with Elizabeth's boots and the umbrella while Elizabeth had to suffer to be carried by Darcy—so that she might not get the feet of his stockings dirty or wet. Rather than have an argument in front of the footman, Elizabeth submitted to this arrangement but she fully intended to take Darcy to task later for his high-handed ways.

But Lizzy could not deny that she felt safe in his strong arms, not threatened, as they exited the crypt. She felt she was being carried by a gentleman, not a vampire. As Darcy walked briskly along the portico, she relaxed upon recognising the delicious scent of him, which she remembered from the night of the Netherfield ball. She acknowledged a momentary stab of panic when they reached the steps down from the portico, for when Darcy swung her slightly to one side, she realised his eyes were closed behind the dark glasses he had perched on his nose before picking her up. She let out a sigh of relief when he navigated the steps safely in the wet. A moment later they were at the carriage door and she stepped straight from his arms into the interior.

After a short stop during which Elizabeth gazed in a slightly embarrassed fashion at the carriage's black velvet curtains and leather squabs while Darcy held her gloved hand, they were soon joined by Mrs Gardiner and Jane who had been ferried to the carriage under Fletcher's umbrella. Elizabeth's hand was discreetly released on their advent. Mr Gardiner followed soon after.

"Well, this is an adventure!" laughed Mr Gardiner as they arranged themselves inside.

"So much for a fine day!" observed Elizabeth dryly.

* * *

Having missed their tour of the manor house entirely, the Gardiners took tea in the salon with what would have been their tour group and their obliging host. Mr Darcy managed to satisfy Mrs Reynolds' notion of his duty to the tourists by conversing with a few of them, but he spent most of his time orbiting Elizabeth and her family. Mr and Mrs Gardiner were highly gratified, not only by their rescue from the gardener's shed but the obvious attention being shown to their niece.

Finally the last of the scones were gone and the visitors began to drift out in groups. The remaining stragglers, which included a garrulous woman bent on praising the housekeeper in a slightly condescending manner, were escorted to the door by Mrs Reynolds. Feeling obliged to leave likewise, Mr Gardiner opened his mouth to bid his host goodbye but Darcy raised his hand to silence him while he waited for the other tourists to exit the room.

"Mr Gardiner, I do apologise for the poor weather," Darcy said. "You cannot leave without taking your tour of the house..."

Mr Gardiner exchanged a glance with his wife and saw encouragement there. "Why, thank you, Mr Darcy. We would be delighted!"

Darcy allowed Mrs Reynolds to conduct the bulk of the private tour, only adding a word or two here and there to point out views or objects he thought might be of special interest to his visitors. Elizabeth was delighted at the interior of the manor house. It was grand and richly furnished but not ostentatiously so. It had less of the grandeur and pomp of Rosings and more the feel of a home, despite its large rooms and grand staircase. She was also thankful that Darcy kept to his promise of not singling her out. He treated both her and Jane with a flattering deference, so that an outside observer might have assumed that either of the sisters might be the object of his attention or that they were merely esteemed friends. His manner was still slightly stiff and awkward but it was rendered less so by his visitors who all talked amiably and easily.

After touring the other public rooms they arrived in the library, much to Elizabeth's delight. It was awe inspiring. She looked about at the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and the coffered ceiling, which Mrs Reynolds related had been preserved from the great hall of the original Elizabethan manor house. On Elizabeth's query, Darcy explained the arrangement of the books, showing Jane the shelves of poetry and Elizabeth the books of natural philosophy.

"Your father would be right at home here, Elizabeth!" commented Mr Gardiner before his wife tweaked his finger for perhaps going too far, whereupon he belatedly added: "being the great scholar that he is."

The faux pas seemed to go unnoticed by Darcy who, after seeing Elizabeth select a book from the shelves to peruse it, withdrew to talk quietly to his housekeeper in an undertone. Understanding that they might yet be encouraged to take more tea or even—God willing—be invited to dinner, the Gardiners made a stellar effort to appear interested in the book Elizabeth had selected, a collection of papers on theories of heat transfer. Having chosen it on the basis of its beautiful binding and the fact it had protruded slightly from its fellows on the shelf, Lizzy felt obliged to take some intelligent interest in it.

Soon Mr Darcy returned from his hasty conference. "Mr Gardiner, I am soon to entertain some friends of mine who are known to Jane and Elizabeth—Mr Bingley and his sisters. They are visiting for two weeks on their way to Yorkshire. I was wondering if you and your nieces would care to join us for the remainder of your stay in Derbyshire? If you like fishing, I can promise you some excellent sport."

This was far more than Mr Gardiner had expected and on turning to his wife, he discovered her uncharacteristically opening and closing her mouth like a fish. He was the first to recover.

"Well! We would be delighted! Wouldn't we, Madeleine? What say you, Jane? I expect you would be glad to see Mr Bingley and his sisters again?"

This, as Mr Gardiner well knew, was the understatement of the century.

"Oh, yes!" said Jane politely, but without showing any unbecoming enthusiasm. "That would be very nice." Inwardly, she was almost ready to faint with delight.

"Excellent!" said Darcy. "Then perhaps we could have a nuncheon* before you depart to retrieve your luggage?"

Mrs Reynolds hurried off, returning with a footman and a maid in a matter of twenty minutes, bearing trays of cheese, fruit and roast beef sandwiches as well as another pot of tea. It was towards the end of this repast that Mrs Gardiner indicated to her husband that they should soon be off if they were to return before nightfall. When Jane and Elizabeth got up to follow, Mrs Gardiner suggested there was no need for her nieces to accompany them if they wished to remain at Pemberley, for she was quite capable of packing up all their effects. It remained only for Darcy to offer his carriage for the return journey—for the hired barouche, with its leather top, had scant room for several trunks.

The entire party went out to the portico to wave the Gardiners off. They discovered on arriving there that it had stopped raining. Nonetheless the coachman had put the top of the barouche up to keep the interior dry during the previous downpour. This had the added benefit of allowing Mr and Mrs Gardiner private speech.

"Well!" said Mr Gardiner once they were safely ensconced inside and on their way. "Things could not have worked out better!"

"And did you notice?" asked Mrs Gardiner. "Lizzy was not resolutely ignoring him as she did in Kent. Do you think it is possible they came to some agreement in the folly?"

"I certainly hope so," said Mr Gardiner. "And to think! You were initially so annoyed with Lizzy when she ran off in the rain!" he chortled.

Mrs Gardiner merely smiled. She hoped that forwarding one niece's interests was not going to set the other one back.

* * *

The three bedchambers the Gardiner party were shown to on Mr and Mrs Gardiner's return were on the second floor, directly above the Darcy family bedchambers. These rooms had originally been intended for the Bingleys' occupation and thus required minimal preparation. The ceilings were not so high as those of the family bedchambers on the floor below but they were still furnished in the first style of elegance. In the revised arrangements, Darcy had asked Mrs Reynolds to prepare three additional bedchambers further along the first floor in the west wing—very grand rooms that were occasionally occupied by Darcy's aunt or uncle, more usually the former, for the earl did not often frequent his native shire. Things might get complicated if Lady Matlock decided to accompany Georgie when she returned on the morrow but Darcy did not think this likely—his aunt was generally very busy with estate management during her short stays at the Matlock country seat. The countess preferred dwelling in London or her smaller inherited home in Hampstead.

They all dressed to go down to dinner, which comprised of a roast, fish and vegetables, accompanied by a leek soup—in short the type of food that Elizabeth was used to at Longbourn, served in much the same manner of elegance without ostentation. There were none of the ragouts of Netherfield or gold plate and turtle soup* of Rosings. The only thing that set the meal apart from the food Lizzy typically enjoyed at Longbourn was the dessert—for in addition to the syllubub and the hedgehog*, there were plates of fresh cut fruit piled high around the top of a pineapple, which Elizabeth had never seen before. Its fruit was delicious. The Darcy estate clearly boasted a succession house.

The gentlemen did not dwell long over their wine and the party passed a pleasant evening in the salon. Jane played the

pianoforte, and Elizabeth and Mrs Gardiner sang. They all admired a beautiful harp which nobody could play, not even the absent Georgiana—for it had belonged to Darcy's mother. Finally, Mrs Gardiner, not wishing to overtax their host, let out a faux yawn and declared herself ready to retire. The party broke up. Darcy surreptitiously drew a slip of paper from his waistcoat and palmed it, hoping to unobtrusively pass it to Elizabeth as she stood up, but there was no chance; her relatives clustered around her. After arranging a log on the fire so that it would not roll out of the hearth, Darcy took a branch of candles to light his visitors up the stairs. They reached the landing, bid each other goodnight, and parted. At the last moment Darcy saw his opportunity. Elizabeth lagged slightly to allow her sister to go before her on the stairs. She turned back to give him a parting glance. Her lips opened slightly in surprise as his ungloved hand touched hers. Then he felt her hand brush the folded note; her eyes registered his intention and the slip of paper passed unobtrusively from hand to hand. With a last imploring look directed at her, Darcy turned and retreated down the hallway.

The Gardiner party reached the top of the stairs. The first room had been allotted to Elizabeth and, after assuring Jane she would not be long, she slipped inside to retrieve her nightgown from her trunk. She found a candle burning on the bedside commode and unfolded the paper before it. A wave of indignation passed over her. It said simply:

 _As suggested, I will meet you at_ midnight _,_

 _Fitzwilliam_

What did he mean, 'as suggested'. No permission had been sought, nor any meeting place indicated. Presumably he intended to creep up to her bedchamber. She looked at the pretty carriage clock on the mantel, it was just past ten thirty. Lizzy did not think it becoming to meet Darcy in her nightgown, so she simply pulled her wrap over her day gown and crept along to her sister's bedchamber to tell her of her revised plans. Jane seemed not much surprised at the change, agreeing the bedchambers were so beautiful that they should enjoy the luxury of their isolation.

It was Lizzy's intention to stay awake by reading a book. After the Gardiners had departed to retrieve their luggage, Darcy had led the Bennet sisters back to the library where he encouraged them to select a book of poetry or a novel for their entertainment. Elizabeth was rather surprised to discover that Pemberley's library boasted a large collection of Gothic romances, which Darcy hastily disclaimed ownership of.

"They are Georgiana's," he had explained. "My efforts to steer her towards books with less florid language and more respectable stories, like Mrs Burney's, have been to no avail. I blame my aunt for introducing her to them."

Jane had then very dutifully selected a volume of poetry but Lizzy had not been swayed by their host's disdain. There were several titles she had never had the opportunity to read before.

Lizzy lay down on the counterpane, retrieved The Midnight Bell by H D Symonds and opened the covers.

When she next opened her eyes it was to discover a tall figure looming over her. She gasped in fright and quickly scrambled upright on the bed only to recognise Darcy, fully kitted in his black garb.

"I beg your pardon," he whispered. "I did not mean to startle you. You had fallen asleep."

"I'm sorry," replied Elizabeth; "the late hour and the exertions of the day took their toll. Is it midnight already?"

"Yes. I did wonder if you would be up to it, but it was your suggestion."

"My suggestion?" repeated Lizzy incredulously.

"Was your selection of that novel not a signal?" Darcy asked.

Lizzy looked at the novel and laughed. "Oh! The Midnight Bell! When did you train as a spy?"

"I think I would make a pretty good spy—a nighttime one anyway. It was a favourite game of Richard's and mine. I am well versed in skip codes and invisible ink."

"Oh, well you will have to enlighten me. I spent my childhood making daisy chains."

"Would you like to talk here or on the roof?" asked Darcy. "It is a beautiful moonlit night."

"The roof sounds nice," replied Lizzy. "Then we need not worry about waking Jane. Just let me change my slippers for some more appropriate shoes."

On Darcy's advice, Lizzy pulled on some low-heeled kid boots. He then caused her considerable consternation when he headed for the window. Elizabeth finally noticed that the casement was flung wide.

"Did you come in that way? I left the door open for you. You surely don't expect me to climb out a second floor window with you?"

Darcy stopped at the sill. "Firstly, young ladies should not leave their bedchamber doors unlocked. Secondly, you can climb on my back, just like you did at Netherfield."

Lizzy stuck her head out the window to look dubiously at the ground below and shuddered.

"I suppose we could wander the corridors to run into your relatives or the servants," observed Darcy. "I thought you asked for discretion? Don't you trust me? All you have to do is hold on."

"Very well," said Lizzy after a moment's hesitation.

After quickly locking the door so her bedchamber would not be discovered empty, Darcy knelt down and Lizzy climbed on his back, holding his neck and twisting her legs around his torso on his suggestion. In a flash he was out the window and scaling the outside wall, grasping the gaps between the sandstone blocks with his fingers. She knew a moment of panic when he tilted her backward slightly as he climbed onto the roof, but it was over in a single hard beat of her heart. As he set her down, Lizzy saw they were on a flat portion of the roof behind a balustrade.

She turned around. "Oh, it is beautiful!" she exclaimed, viewing the wooded hills extending into the distance in the moonlight.

Darcy stood close and proceeded to point out Pemberley's boundaries, bringing his head close to hers and pointing over her shoulder. Her nearness was intoxicating. His flesh still tingled where her legs had wrapped around him, where she had scored slight indentations in his neck on reflexively grasping him in fright as they reached the roof. He felt an almost overwhelming desire to kiss her but he stood and pointed instead. Soon he could think of nothing more to show her and regretfully stepped away.

"I have a chair," he said, opening a door in a gable behind them.

He pulled a leather armchair out of a small room in the roof. Lizzy recognised it as matching the one in the crypt.

"Please sit," he urged her.

"No, no," said Lizzy. "If you have another milking stool or crate, I can sit on that. I will not rob you of your chair a second time."

Darcy hesitated. "Since we are courting, would you consent to sit on my lap?"

Elizabeth thought this very forward of him, but then recalled that the Ton were more permissive in courting. "Very well," she conceded.

Darcy seated himself and held out his arms. Lizzy sat down gingerly on his knees. This was not entirely what Darcy had hoped for but he resigned himself to a cup half full and rested his hands on the arms of the chair. He saw her relax slightly. There was a moment's awkwardness while each waited for the other to speak first.

"Tell me about yourself," said Lizzy.

"Well, there has been a Darcy on these lands since the twelfth century. We had a barony once but it was taken away by the Tudors and never restored. Nonetheless, we kept part of our land and the Fitzwilliams helped us reclaim most of what had originally been ours later. We have been great allies for centuries. My family have mostly been content to stay here farming in Derbyshire. The Fitzwilliams have always been more ambitious. They lost and regained their earldom twice and have always been close to the circles of power."

"This house does not look very old. What happened to the original manor house?"

"One wing of it burned down thirty-five years ago. My grandfather died fighting the blaze. My father originally intended to repair it but he was wooing my mother at the time. Grandfather Fitzwilliam—the eighth earl—wasn't keen on the match. There were far more advantageous matches he was eyeing for my mother, who was his second eldest daughter. So my father decided instead to build this house with money he had made from the new industries he had invested in—in the mines and in Sheffield. It is a far grander house than Ebsworth castle—the Matlock stronghold. Once he saw it, Grandfather Fitzwilliam relented."

"So the earl was not averse to money from trade?"

"No, he allowed Aunt Catherine to marry a banker. But I think he was very glad to get rid of her—she already had a terrible reputation as a shrew."

Lizzy laughed. "But Lady Catherine's husband was a baron, wasn't he?"

"A newly created one."

There was a short silence.

"Your parents died early," observed Lizzy soberly, remembering he had said something of his mother's death in the hut at Rosings.

"My mother died after the birth of Georgie—of puerperal fever. My father was never the same afterwards. He would sometimes forget to eat. He was a strong man. But he died just after I graduated from Cambridge. He caught a fever that swept through the nearby village. The doctor fully expected him to recover as did most of the others affected, but he did not; he told me once that if he had ever suspected anyone of dying of a broken heart, it was my father—an unusual admission from him, for he was a man of science."

"You must miss your parents," observed Elizabeth, remembering the flowers in the crypt.

"Every day," replied Darcy quietly.

Elizabeth suddenly felt incredibly sorry for him. Despite his riches, he seemed to have had an incredibly tragic life—first losing his parents and then being attacked by a vampire. She reached out her hand to touch his face. He grasped it and held it to his cheek. She could feel his flesh was cool and slightly rough with stubble. His other arm snaked round her and drew her to him. She let him draw her along his leg, closer to his chest. He sighed and clasped her loosely.

Lizzy leaned her head upon his shoulder. "Tell me what happened in Pest."

So Darcy related his trip to Vienna, the unlucky decision to venture off alone and an expurgated version of his encounters with the count.

"So that is how you met Mr Bingley?" asked Elizabeth.

"Yes, my cousin used him as a courier, to advise me that he had left Vienna and to suggest a scenic route home. It was a fateful encounter. I had largely determined never to return to England before Bingley turned up, when I suddenly found myself forced to pretend that everything was all right. I couldn't shake Bingley off. Once he discovered that I was ill he insisted on staying with me until I was ready to return to England. As soon as the rumours reached us that Napoleon had escaped Elba and entered France, I realised Richard had been advising us not to return home overland and we set off for the coast."

"And Mr Bingley is aware that you are a vampire?"

"No, I told him merely that I was recovering from an illness that had made me sensitive to light. You and Richard are the only two I have told. The only other who knows my secret is my valet who discovered it himself. It is very difficult to keep anything from your valet."

"So Colonel Fitzwilliam is aware of your condition?"

"Yes, I told him at Rosings, once I discovered that he was courting Anne. He wanted me to get married so he could ask for Anne's hand. I tried to tell him why I couldn't."

"Ah! So you originally had decided not to marry."

"Of course not! How could I inflict myself on another in such a state? That was why I was so standoffish in Hertfordshire."

"I thought you were trying to preserve me from your bloodlust."

Darcy shuddered at her forthrightness. "At first I thought that was all it was, though I had never experienced such a dreadful desire before. The blood of some people is... for want of a better word... more tasty than others. The count taught me to discern this from their smell."

"So the Bingleys... they are not tasty?"

"You do not miss much, do you?"

"And you thought I would just be especially delicious?"

"You do have a way with words," sighed Darcy. "Yes, at first, ...until your cousin proposed. Then I realised I was jealous."

"Ah! So you knew he was not reciting poetry," said Elizabeth, embarrassed.

"Yes."

"Then what changed your mind about marriage?"

"Richard mostly. I have gained better control over my condition since Hertfordshire. He convinced me it might be possible to extend my ruse of normality into marriage. Still I baulked. I felt it would be wrong to offer for you without disclosing my condition."

Lizzy was overcome by his goodness. "Thank you. Indeed, I do not think it would be right to keep such a big secret from your wife." She became aware he was absentmindedly stroking her thigh over her gown. "Can vampires father children?"

"I believe so, yes."

"And are they vampires also?"

"No."

Lizzy nodded absently and tucked the crown of her head under his neck. He continued to hold her loosely, almost afraid to move now she was nestled so close to him, afraid she might take flight like a bird. Darcy wished he could keep her there forever. After some time, he heard a tiny sigh and then deeper breathing. He realised she had fallen asleep again.

Darcy continued to sit there with Elizabeth for sometime till he felt her shiver as the temperature continued to drop. Finally he scooped her up and rather than risk climbing one handed when she was asleep, slipped silently through the door in the gable and down the servants' stairs. Fishing the master key, from his waistcoat, Darcy entered her bedchamber. He locked the door after himself and, flipping the counterpane back, laid her down on the bed. He took off her shoes and covered her with the quilt. Then he took off his boots and lay down beside her on top of the counterpane, watching her sleep.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*Small talk - chit-chat, trifling conversation" (1751) first recorded in Chesterfield's "Letters."

mouser—a cat that is good at catching and killing mice.

*Cock and bull story — a fanciful, unbelieve tale. The phrase likely comes from old folk tales that featured magical animals. The early 17th century French term 'coq-a-l'âne' was glossed in Randle Cotgrave's A Dictionarie of the French and English Tongues, 1611 as meaning:

An incoherent story, passing from one subject to another.

The literal translation of 'du coq à l'âne' is 'from rooster to jackass', which nicely fits the meaning of the term. This was later taken up in Scots as "cockalayne", again with the same meaning. The first citation of 'cock and bull' stories in English is from Robert Burton's The Anatomy of Melancholy, 1621:

"Some mens whole delight is to talk of a Cock and Bull over a pot." Phrases–org–uk

*high-handed—presumptuous and bossy, making decisions on behalf of others without consulting them

*Nuncheon—a light midmorning or midafternoon snack, typically a cold collation.

*Turtle soup—a very expensive meal. Green sea turtles were typically used, imported, and costing around £20 a pop, roughly the annual wage of a chambermaid.

*hedgehog—a molded dessert with slivered almonds stuck into it to resemble a hedgehog.

succession house.—a greenhouse for growing exotic fruit.


	39. Chains that bind

**Thanks** **to everyone who reviewed. Your encouragement keeps me going. Especial thanks to _alix33_ and _Laure Saint-Yves_ for finding typos and _suddenlysingle_ for giving me an idea.**

 **Suggestion for the title of Chapter 37 were:**

 **"Up on the Roof" by _Deanna27_ ,**

 **"Date at Midnight Bell" by _Brytte_ _Mystere_ ,**

 **"A gothic rendez-vous" by _Laure_ _Saint-Yves,_**

 **"Rooftop Ruminations" by _anita1788_ ,**

 **"Getting to Know You" by _Sacredwoman2K_ ,**

 **"Some fishing" or "Light and dark moments" by _beaty_ ,**

 **"The Courtship Begins" by _suddenlysingle_ ,**

 **"Rooftop Revelations" by _Lee3619_ ,**

 **"Getting warmer" or "Getting closer" by _brightredsunlight_ ,**

 **"Hosiery and History" by _Sgordon_ ,**

 **"Pemberley On Parade" or "Into the Glad Lands" by _Dizzy Lizzy.60,_**

 **"7 minutes in heaven" by _ArkaFa_.**

 **I thought of "Romeo and Juliet" myself, but decided to go with "Midnight Bell" by _Brytte Mystere_.**

* * *

 **Chapter 38**

Lizzy woke with a start and realised someone was rapping on her door.

"Lizzy!" came Jane's voice. "Wake up! Aunt and Uncle want to go down to breakfast! Mrs Reynolds said it would be available from eight!"

Lizzy's eyes flew to the mantel clock. It was a quarter to the hour. She flipped back the sheets and stared down at herself. She was still wearing her day gown from yesterday, much crumpled. Had it all been a dream?

"Sorry!" she said, starting up. "I slept in! Can you help me with my hair in five minutes?"

"Very well!" said Jane, and thankfully she went away.

Lizzy sat fully upright and stared at the window, which was only slightly ajar, just as she had left it last night before going down to dinner. She turned to the candle sconce. The burnt fragment of Darcy's note still lay in the bottom where she had discarded it. Finally she looked at the bed. There on the pillow, in a depression the size of a man's head, lay a red rose. So she had been on the roof with him last night! Why could she remember nothing of returning? How long had he spent in her chamber and what had occurred?

Realising there was no time to dwell on any of these questions, Lizzy ran to the wardrobe and removed a fresh day gown which she had hung there yesterday. It looked as if it had been ironed. Removing the pins from her bib Lizzy noticed they were set at their usual angle—one she had found by trial and error to best suit her bust size. She also discovered—thankfully!—that she was still wearing her stockings. She decided not to change them in the interests of time.

What, if anything, had happened? The last thing she could remember was being drawn close to Darcy as she sat on his knee. It seemed she had fallen asleep leaning against his chest. Had she really been that tired? Or had he used his mesmerism?

Lizzy had just stepped into her fresh gown when there was a knock at the door.

"Open up, Lizzy!" came Jane's voice from the hall.

"Coming!" replied Lizzy, dashing for the rose on the bed. She threw it in her water jug, hid it behind the bed curtains on the floor, and plumped the pillow on which it had been laid. After a quick glance round confirmed no other discernible evidence of Darcy's occupation, Elizabeth unlocked the door.

"Sleepy head!" smiled Jane as she walked in carrying a bandbox in one hand and a brass pail of water in the other. "It was a big day yesterday, wasn't it?"

"Yes!" admitted Elizabeth as she finished resetting the pins in her fresh gown.

"Don't you want to wash?" asked Jane. "The water is barely tepid now, I'm afraid. It was delivered at seven-thirty."

"No time," said Lizzy as she absentmindedly searched for pins in her hair.

"Did you forget to plait your hair last night?" asked Jane.

Lizzy froze. Not used to glancing in mirrors, she had forgotten about her hair. "Oh, yes! Silly me! Disruption of nighttime routine!"

Jane laughed and the matter passed off.

Jane set the bandbox on the dressing table and drew the long- handled brush from it. "Isn't this wonderful?" she sighed, glancing round appreciatively at the luxurious bedchamber.

Lizzy smiled. "Yes. Mr Bingley will be arriving tomorrow and you can bill and coo* with him again."

"Oh, no," averred Jane. "I promise not to be silly. We will meet only as common and indifferent acquaintances. Aunt came to my room last night after we parted and gave me a stern talk. I know it would spoil our stay here if I got upset because Mr Bingley did not renew the attentions he once favoured me with. I accept he has made his choice and am determined to be good. It was very nice of Mr Darcy to ask us to stay—almost as if we were friends of long standing. I will not spoil it."

Lizzy accepted this pledge without further demur but the change in Jane's demeanour was evident. From the deep melancholy she had exhibited in London, she had adopted a sober steadiness in Kent, brought on by her solicitude for Lizzy. Once they had returned to Longbourn, Jane had only gradually been recovering the placid demeanour that had previously characterised her. Now she was almost bubbling with excitement.

They went down to breakfast with the Gardiners.

Mrs Reynolds informed them on entering the breakfast parlour that she did not expect Mr Darcy to come down until twelve, but he had placed a footman at Mr Gardiner's disposal—should he wish to try his hand at a spot of fishing. Perhaps the ladies would like to accompany them? A nuncheon would be served at twelve, if they cared to return then. Mrs Reynolds expected Miss Georgie home in the early afternoon. It was agreed.

They recognised their assigned footman as Fletcher. He turned out to be an energetic and intelligent young chap* who disclosed he was understudying Mr Darcy's valet. When Mr Gardiner enquired politely on Mr Finn's health, Fletcher revealed that although Mr Finn had largely recovered, he was still having some difficulties. This surprised Lizzy in view of Darcy's assurance of Finn's complete recovery. She could only assume that having taken on Fletcher to understudy as valet, it suited Darcy to keep him on.

The fishing was deemed successful. With her back against a tree, Lizzy watched all their triumphs appreciatively, filling in the dull spots with a book. Mr Gardiner caught two trout and Mrs Gardiner one, while Jane hooked something bigger which got away. On their walk back, Jane observed tranquilly to Lizzy that it seemed to be the story of her life. Lizzy stared at her sister momentarily before reflecting that Jane's sorrow seemed to have brought out new depths in her sister which had nor previously been apparent.

Although they arrived back at the manor house before twelve, Mrs Reynolds directed them immediately to the dining room where Mr Darcy typically breakfasted—he had already come down and was awaiting them. They found the dining room, which had seemed so bright and airy during their recent tour and positively incandescent with a myriad of candles last night, now cloaked in gloom; the brocade curtains drawn.

Darcy played his part as host genially but Elizabeth could not help but notice that he would not look at her. After their intimacy last night, she was quite offended. If this was his notion of discretion, he was taking it too far! Further glances in his direction determined he had dark circles under his eyes. But it was only when they were half-way through the meal that she noticed the bandages on his wrists. They were largely hidden by some dark lace at his cuffs. She was sure he had not been injured when they had met last night.

His snubs continued until they had all finished their meal. Finally, Darcy began to excuse himself; he had a meeting with his steward which he really ought not put off again—it had been rescheduled yesterday on account of the public day. On Darcy's urging, Mr Gardiner declared himself again for fishing; both his catches had been caught late in his last session; he felt he now had a better measure of the stream and his opponents. Darcy got up and with only a quick glance at Elizabeth, went off. She was at a loss to understand what she had seen in that furtive look—perhaps an apology. Having had enough of spectating, Lizzy opted for the library but when Jane would have followed her, Mrs Gardiner discreetly held her eldest niece back—they both attached themselves to Mr Gardiner, indicating to Mrs Reynolds their willingness to return at Miss Georgiana's pleasure, whenever she should arrive.

Feeling a trifle neglected and a bit heavy-eyed from lack of sleep, Lizzy returned to the library to peruse the shelves. She selected a book of poems and sat down near the hearth to read it. Within minutes she could feel herself nodding off and got up to prevent herself doing so. After pacing back and forth for a bit, she regretted not joining her aunt and uncle in the fresh air. Although the sun was out, it did not penetrate to the interior of the library as the large windows were set high and deep amongst the bookshelves. The windowsills were wide ledges that would have made wonderful window seats had they not been so far from the floor.

It was then that Lizzy realised she could reach them with the library steps. She trundled the nearest set of steps over—et voilà!—in a few bounds she was settling into a sunny nook. She looked outside and then about the library from her perch with satisfaction. It was a magnificent room. Indeed, it would be a privilege to be mistress of such a room!

While it felt wonderful to sit in the sun, occasionally looking up from her poem to savour the words and survey the grounds, it proved not enough to combat Elizabeth's drowsiness.

Lizzy woke to the sound of a steady beat, feeling refreshed but thinking that she could not have been asleep very long. On looking down, she discovered that the sound she could hear was Darcy's footsteps, pacing back and forward on the hard wooden floor. He seemed to be unaware of her presence, muttering to himself. Lizzy distinctly heard the words 'I'm sorry' repeated several times.

"What are you sorry for?" she asked clearly, hoping some explanation for his behaviour at breakfast would be forthcoming.

The words had no sooner left her mouth than Darcy sprang backwards into the air and threw himself against the opposite shelves. The force of his movement might have been expected to injure a lesser man, but Darcy merely threw out an arm and a leg to steady himself and looked up at her in astonishment. While his acrobatics had startled her, Lizzy realised she should not have been surprised by his feat, for he had jumped far further to reach the window of the parsonage.

"I beg your pardon. I thought I was alone," he apologised.

"Your vampiric senses seem to have failed you this morning," she observed dryly.

Darcy sighed. "You don't know how true that is."

"What is the matter?" asked Lizzy in perturbation. "Why did you pretend I did not exist at breakfast?"

Darcy heaved a great sigh. "Oh, Elizabeth! I have made a horrible mistake in requesting to court you. I overestimated my resilience. I no longer think you could be safe as my wife."

Elizabeth set her book aside and stood up at the top of the library steps, feeling a little cold. "What has changed?" she asked woodenly. To her ears, the toneless words seemed to have been spoken by someone else.

"When you were ill at Rosings," said Darcy, and his words were almost a plea, "I sat by your bed every night watching over you. I thought I had overcome the urgency of my desire for you. But alas! It is not the case. If Finn had not wisely urged caution this morning, I might have harmed you!"

"What do you mean?" she enquired, and then, more cautiously, "Do you feel in command of yourself now?"

"Yes, because I am awake! But I know now I still cannot trust myself in your vicinity when I am asleep."

Emboldened, Elizabeth descended the library steps. She could see he was genuinely agitated.

"Does this have anything to do with the bandages on your hands?"

Darcy sighed and self-consciously tugged at his cuffs. "Finn thought it best to restrain me when I retired this morning. He did so at Netherfield when you visited. Thank God my valet is wiser than I am!"

"What do you mean?"

Darcy sank into a chair despondently.

"You don't know how close I came to harming you at Netherfield. The first night you stayed with your sister, I had Finn tie me to the bed, just as a precaution. You cannot imagine my horror, on waking in the morning, to discover myself in your room. I had chewed through the bandages!"

"But I was with Jane!" exclaimed Elizabeth.

"Exactly!" affirmed Darcy. "Your decision to sleep in your sister's room may have saved your life. I did not consciously go to your chamber. I must have just followed your scent."

"Oh!" said Elizabeth, pondering this.

"Only Finn kept you safe the second night. He had the blacksmith in Meryton make up some sturdier restraints. I thank God he insisted I wear them again last night."

Elizabeth was having some difficulty understanding this. "Show me your hands!" she requested.

Meekly, Darcy held out one hand. Elizabeth detached the old-fashioned lace cuff and, finding the pin that fastened the bandage, unwound it. The last winding of the bandage was bloody. Elizabeth shuddered and pulled it back cautiously, lest it be stuck to his skin. Strangely, she was not confronted by a raw wound but by pink skin. A single deep gash in his flesh was evident but it was well clotted and puckered.

"This looks old," she said in puzzlement.

"It is new. I did it this morning as I was sleeping, trying to escape my bonds," and to her raised eyebrow, "I heal quickly."

Elizabeth was unsure what to think. Was he lying to her, having reconsidered his initial joy in meeting her again? Could he be trusted as little as Lieutenant Wickham?

Having taken the bold step of agreeing to his secret courtship, Lizzy felt a little ill, as if she had stepped onto a bridge and made it to the middle before finding it rickety.

"Should I bind it again?" she asked, trying to quash her disappointment.

"Finn likes to keep the bandage on tightly until the wound has knit, otherwise it scars," replied Darcy softly.

Elizabeth rolled the bandage in preparation for winding it again but before she could do so, Darcy seemed to change his mind. He stayed her hand and removed the bandage gently from her grasp.

"You are annoyed with me, and rightly so," he said gently. "But do not think I have toyed with you. Your disappointment cannot equal my own."

Then he took both her hands in his own. "Last night, I felt a world that I thought was lost to me had been regained. You fell asleep in my arms—so trusting. I carried you back to your room and watched you sleep, thinking it would be the first night of many. I told myself I had conquered my thirst for you. I even plucked the rose for you in blissful contemplation of having you here with me forever. But it cannot be."

Elizabeth could not reply. A lump had formed in her throat. She pressed her lips together. Having conquered her doubts in agreeing to the courtship, it was terrible to be thus rejected.

"I owe you a better explanation," said Darcy. "You have caught me formulating it, but I am not very good with words. Come with me and I will reveal my deepest secrets to you. I owe you that much."

Darcy took Elizabeth by the hand. She did not resist as he led her to a second set of library steps. She was a little confused when he mounted them and encouraged her to ascend behind him. Perhaps he intended to show her a family history? But all was explained when they reached the top of the steps, which turned out to be a narrow landing. A second flight of narrow stairs was concealed behind a bookcase.

"Where does it go?" whispered Elizabeth.

"My chambers," replied Darcy.

Elizabeth halted abruptly.

"It is perhaps a little improper," reassured Darcy, "but no one will know you have left the library. Finn will be there; so we will not be alone."

Elizabeth was only partly mollified by these words, but she could see there was nothing lascivious in Darcy's behaviour and allowed herself to be guided up the stairs after him.

Behind a door at the top of the stairs was a comfortable sitting room, which she assumed to be Darcy's. It was richly furnished in the baroque style but exuded comfort more than ostentation. Despite being impeccably clean, it was a little old-fashioned. With the curtains drawn, it had an odd feeling of neglect about it—like a museum—but none of the furniture was under holland covers.

A steady sound to one side drew Elizabeth's attention. Turning, she recognised a chemical apparatus worthy of her still room. Before she could ask a question about it, an interconnecting door opened, and a well dressed middle-aged man walked into the room, whom Elizabeth recognised as Darcy's valet.

"I beg your pardon, sir," said the man, pausing with his hand on the doorknob. He then attempted to efface himself.

"Stay, Finn," called Darcy. "Continue to go about your business. I have brought Miss Elizabeth upstairs to explain a few things to her."

Finn looked a little dubious but nodded his acquiescence. He walked over to the apparatus, an alembic in which a dark red liquid bubbled. Elizabeth initially thought this was port, based on the empty bottle standing beside it. But when Darcy's valet withdrew a wine glass and began decanting some of the liquid through a stopcock, its viscous properties changed her mind.

"You have guessed?" asked Darcy.

"Is it blood?" whispered Elizabeth, hardly daring to say the word.

"From venesection," replied Darcy. "Transported from Manchester, Sheffield and Leeds every day."

Elizabeth expected the valet to offer the filled glass to Darcy, but instead he walked off to a far corner of the room with it. Not wishing to appear overly inquisitive, Elizabeth turned her attention back to the alembic, which she could now see was actually a large flask. No burner was beneath it. The bubbles she could see rising in the liquid derived from a tube that had been fed down its neck, partly disguised by the retort stand. In principle, the apparatus was very reminiscent of the arrangement that had been used in her sickroom at Rosings.

"You are bubbling oxygen through it?" she asked.

"No, nitrous oxide. It removes a stale taste that makes it unpalatable."

"So you have discovered a way to avoid..." Elizabeth could not bring herself to say the word 'feeding'. She finished her sentence lamely with 'people'.

"For me it is not enough," explained Darcy. "But it takes the edge off my hunger. Finn, however, finds it quite fills his needs."

"Finn?" repeated Elizabeth in bewilderment. She turned around quickly and was just in time to see Finn lower his glass. The penny dropped. "Then Mr Finn is also a vampire? But I saw him in the daylight at Netherfield! Did you attack him?"

"No, Elizabeth, no. Wickham did. Finn was shot retrieving Lydia. He was on the verge of death. He asked me to save him."

Elizabeth puzzled over this for a moment. "Your hands...you said they healed quickly... And at Rosings, you said there was more to your condition than a craving for blood and an aversion for light. Do you then have great regenerative abilities?"

Darcy's nascent smile brought a lump to his throat. She was so quick and clever—qualities he had been searching for in a wife! "Yes," he continued shakily, knowing it could never be and feeling a huge wave of self-pity wash over him, "and it proved enough to save Finn's life, even though I was worried he was too far gone."

"I see," said Elizabeth. "But now he cannot go out in the light either. That is why you keep Fletcher. Does he know too?"

"No, he just thinks Finn has caught my weird lurgy. In the circumstances, I suppose I should be grateful he does not consider himself at risk."

Elizabeth glanced at Finn who returned her gaze calmly. He did not look at all like a ravenous vampire. He looked like a very correct gentleman's gentleman.

"Come," said Darcy, gesturing towards his chamber. "You might as well know the whole."

Elizabeth entered Darcy's chamber with some curiosity. It was gloomy inside, but not too dark to discern the room was furnished with taste and distinction. She had barely stepped across the threshold when the scent of him washed over her—the whole room was imbued with it. She felt something jump in her loins. It was quite a weird feeling, something she had not experienced before and she was at a loss to explain it. She realised she was holding her breath and reminded herself to breathe.

Darcy advanced towards a four-poster bed and halted near the foot of it. Reaching down beside the mattress, he extracted something that clinked as he pulled it out. Elizabeth realised it was a chain ending in a manacle. He held it out for her inspection.

"This is how Mr Finn restrains you?" she asked.

"They are modified horse hobbles. One at the foot of the bed for my feet, and another at the head for my hands."

"You must always sleep like this?"

"Only when you are under the same roof."

Elizabeth bit her lip and nodded. "I could hardly expect you to live in such discomfort."

Darcy could not help himself. He smiled. Taking Elizabeth's hand he brought it to his lips. "My discomfort is nothing. Indeed, it is little more than uncomfortable. It is your safety that concerns me. I found no need for the chains when you were lying ill at Rosings and thought that phase of my fascination had passed. But it seems it was only a temporary respite, perhaps in sympathy for your condition. My desire for you was back in all its force, last night in my dreams. But do not worry. Finn will see that I am well restrained."

"So you think I am safe when you are awake?"

"Alas, possibly not entirely."

He hesitated. Elizabeth raised her eyebrows.

"Your menses," whispered Darcy. "Do you expect them soon?"

"Not for another week or so."

"That will be a testing time. Firstly let me apologise for my behaviour at the Netherfield ball, carting you off to that hayrick. An apology should have been my first concern when I proposed at Rosings. Unfortunately, I soon found myself in much the same situation."

"Ah!" said Elizabeth, instantly twigging*. "That was why I did not go to Rosings for dinner."

"If you are still here at that time, we will need to be careful to maintain a good distance between us. Until then, you can count on my good behaviour when awake."

As Elizabeth nodded her understanding, the sound of a carriage reached their ears.

"That will be Georgie," said Darcy, taking Elizabeth by the hand. "We should return downstairs quickly before anyone notices we are missing."

They had barely reached the library floor when Mrs Reynolds announced herself with a knock at the open door.

"Is it Georgie?" asked Darcy.

"Yes, sir," confirmed Mrs Reynolds. "But there is another carriage with her, sir; and it is not the countess's."

Darcy nodded with some trepidation. Could it be the Bingleys arriving early? He had hoped for Georgie and Elizabeth to have some time to get to know each other before Caroline and Louisa arrived.

He ushered Elizabeth before him, then slipped his dark glasses from his waistcoat pocket. Darcy stopped at the top of the steps that led down to the carriageway and proceeded to wait in the shadows as the carriages drew near, his eyes slitted against the bright sunny day. Elizabeth drew off to the other side of the steps with Mrs Reynolds.

Darcy's fears proved entirely founded. He recognised the second carriage as Hurst's.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*Bill - to stroke beaks," as doves do, hence, of lovers, "caress fondly," 1590s, from bill (n.2)). Paired with coo at least since 1764. Online etymology dictionary

*Chap–a man or a boy. Late 16th century (denoting a buyer or customer): abbreviation of chapman. The current sense dates from the early 18th century.

*twigging—realising, understanding. British informal, mid 18th century, unknown origin.


	40. Sturm und Drang

**Thanks to** ** _alix33_** **for corrections.**

 **Suggestions for the title of Chapter 39 were:**

 **"I'm sorry, so sorry please accept my apology" by** ** _Deanna27_** **,**

 **"I want to drink your blood" by** ** _suddenlysingle_** **,**

 **"Rude restraint" or "Blood calls" by** ** _Anglocelt_** **,**

 **"All the Bloody Details" by** ** _Windchimed_** **,**

"Cold **Feet" by** ** _Brytte Mystere_** **,**

 **"Chains that Bind" by** ** _anita1788_** **,**

 **"Behind Windows and Doors" by** ** _beaty_** **,**

 **"Sleeping beauty" or "roses with thorns" by** ** _nessy22_** **,**

 **"Brought low" by** ** _guest_** **,**

 **"My love is like a red red rose" (so with its thorns) or "The love's thorns" by** ** _Laure Saint-Yves,_**

 **"A Rude Awakening" by** ** _Sgordon_** **,**

 **I decided to go with "Chains that Bind" by** ** _anita1788_** **.**

* * *

 **Chapter 40**

As soon as the head footman let down the steps of the first carriage, Georgie emerged, looking much harassed and cast a resentful glance at her brother. Caroline followed soon after.

"Oh, what a glorious day!" declared Miss Bingley to all and sundry*, looking avidly left and right at the magnificent structure of the manor house before her.

An older lady followed Miss Bingley from the coach.

Caroline then continued, as if to this lady, but in her best stage voice, so that all were privy, "We had stopped briefly in Lambton to refresh ourselves. Imagine my surprise when I saw Miss Darcy's carriage approach!"

"Hello, Brother," called Miss Darcy, cutting off Miss Bingley's speech.

Georgiana proceeded to mount the steps and plant a kiss on her brother's cheek while Miss Bingley gabbled animatedly in the background. Elizabeth caught 'left London early as it was too hot' and 'Charles had some concern that we were before expectation', but Lizzy was too busy watching the interaction between brother and sister to pay full attention to Caroline's tale—for due to its light-hearted exposition and extraneous detail, it was clearly lacking in sincerity. Georgiana mouthed something inaudible in her brother's ear as she pecked him on the cheek. Elizabeth was not sure, but she thought it had been 'you owe me'. Then Georgie swiftly moved on to hug Mrs Reynolds heartily.

It was not until Caroline mounted the steps that she saw Elizabeth. Her face fell ludicrously for a second before she plastered her smile back on it. Darcy covered the moment wonderfully by reaching for Caroline's hand and kissing it.

"You remember Miss Elizabeth, Caroline?" asked Darcy, unbending. "Her relatives came to the public day yesterday and I have asked them to join us. It will be quite like Netherfield once again."

"Of course," replied Caroline stiffly.

"Georgie, this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet," introduced Darcy.

Darcy said no more but Elizabeth could see that Miss Darcy's eyes were brimming with curiosity.

"Oh, I have been wanting to meet you!" exclaimed Georgiana before realising she was perhaps being a little forward. "Brother, said he encountered you again at Rosings. What a happy coincidence!"

Elizabeth smiled and gave a polite nod. She was a little surprised to find she had been a topic of family discourse.

"Indeed, Miss Elizabeth is quite ubiquitous!" said Caroline, unable to keep something like a snarl from her voice. But she smiled sweetly afterwards, tilting her head to one side and showing all her teeth. "And Mrs Reynolds! The reliable family retainer! I have heard so much about you!"

Elizabeth was prepared to remain in the background—where Caroline clearly wanted her—as the rest of the Netherfield party disgorged from the second coach. But when Bingley yelled, "Ho, Darcy!" and bounded up the steps, Georgie used the distraction to intertwine her arm with Elizabeth's and smile impishly at her. Elizabeth was forced to look at the ground to compose herself when she broke into an unholy grin. She could see Miss Darcy was quite determined to keep Miss Bingley at arm's length.

"I'll have tea in the parlour within fifteen minutes, sir, or longer if you would like the Gardiners to be fetched," Mrs Reynolds advised as Bingley shook Darcy's hand vigorously.

"Make it thirty, Mrs Reynolds. And send Miss Georgie's carriage down to retrieve them."

"Yes, sir," said Mrs Reynolds and then approached the head footman who was supervising the unloading of the trunks.

Bingley was surprised and delighted to discover the lady at the top of the steps was Miss Elizabeth. When Darcy casually explained that Miss Bennet and her aunt and uncle would soon be joining them, Elizabeth saw Bingley's mouth open in expectation and his eyes shine. Clearly he had not forgot Jane.

The pleasantries exchanged, Darcy became very much the property of the newcomers. Elizabeth resigned herself gracefully to Miss Darcy's company and found herself happily surprised. Within minutes it was obvious that Georgiana was nothing like Lydia, despite their common misadventures. Miss Darcy was intelligent, witty and well-read. Once in the parlour, she headed straight for the keyboard, pulling Elizabeth after her. It soon became obvious that Georgie played like a master.

Not half an hour later the fishing party walked into the parlour. Miss Darcy looked up briefly from the sheet music of her piece as her hands flew over the keyboard. Elizabeth, who stood beside her turning the pages, watched her sister carefully for any sign of distress upon perceiving the Netherfield party. There was none. Jane smiled politely at the Bingleys. Her smile was not warm, but Elizabeth knew how much grief and sorrow it covered. She waited with bated breath for Mr Bingley's reaction and almost forgot to turn Georgie's page at the appropriate time.

It was with some trepidation that Lizzy saw Mr Bingley make a bee-line for Jane. Caroline frowned and abandoned Mr Darcy to follow closely in her brother's wake. Jane blushed at Mr Bingley's attentions. The polite smile wavered and was replaced with a warmer one. Caroline put her oar in, attempting to step between the two. But Mrs Gardiner was quicker. She moved forward from beside Jane to greet Miss Bingley and introduced herself. The group reformed and Jane and Bingley ended up beside each other once more. Soon they were billing cooing again. Mr Gardiner, a helpless spectator, threw a glance of entreaty at Elizabeth. She just smiled, satisfied by her better knowledge of Mr Bingley's heart due to Darcy's disclosures in the crypt.

The tea tray arrived soon after. Georgie abandoned her piece with an improvised coda, grabbed Elizabeth's hand and sat down in front of a large plate of scones between Elizabeth and her companion, who had been introduced as Mrs Annesley. Under Georgie's direction, the three of them dispensed tea. Caroline had initially stared at Georgie resentfully on seeing herself out-marshalled but soon smugly seated herself by Darcy. She proceeded to add milk and sugar to his tea, despite knowing he preferred it unsweetened and black. It was her way of establishing her superior claims on him over Elizabeth. Darcy grimaced at the cup and politely drank.

The Gardiners were remarkably adept at keeping the conversation going in conjunction with Darcy and Caroline. This was just as well, for any attempt to enter the conversation by Elizabeth was met by a spiteful remark by Caroline. Bingley, who had often been his sister's foil at Netherfield, proved remarkably useless with Jane sitting beside him. None of this escaped Miss Darcy, who had always found Miss Bingley encroaching, and had no trouble recognising the shafts being aimed at Miss Elizabeth and understanding why. She knew her brother had never expressed the slightest interest in Miss Bingley, but there had been tantalising mentions of Miss Elizabeth and her sister in his correspondence. As he typically never mentioned any females outside the family, it was all terribly intriguing.

Darcy was glad when the ordeal of afternoon tea was over and they could retire to their rooms to dress for dinner. When Mrs Reynolds accompanied them up the stairs to direct them to their accomodations, Miss Bingley was ecstatic to find she would be occupying the countess's room. She graciously waved goodbye to the Gardiners as they ascended to the less desirable upper floor with its lower ceiling, never realising that the chambers above had been originally prepared for the Bingleys, nor that Darcy had suggested the change to Mrs Reynolds because it conveniently placed Elizabeth's chamber directly above his own.

Finn was waiting with a preprandial drink for Darcy, always useful when in company to stave off hunger pangs and keep Darcy's temper even. Darcy accepted the wine glass with thanks and quickly drained it, only to hear a peremptory knock at the door—definitely not the polite tap of a servant.

Darcy threw a harried look at Finn—was it possible that

Miss Bingley had been so bold as to knock on his door?

Nodding his understanding, Finn moved forward to answer the newcomer's summons while Darcy set down the wineglass and remained in the lee* of the door. Darcy was puzzled to see Finn step back in surprise on opening the door. Then Georgie slid into the room, practically skipping towards him.

"Miss Elizabeth is very nice!" she declared. "We are already fast friends!"

Darcy could have kicked himself—he was unable to suppress a blush. "Georgie," he protested, "you should not be in my chamber. It is improper."

"Finn is here," Georgie retorted. "Besides how am I to talk to you of Miss Elizabeth in front of Caroline? She will not leave me alone for a minute."

"Where is Mrs Annesley?"

"Talking to Caroline in my chamber. You see! She came pretending to ask my opinion on which parure she should wear! I slipped out of my dressing room without them knowing," Georgie confided. "Come now, do not be a bore. You did not say you were expecting Miss Elizabeth. I am very glad she is here—at first, only to keep Caroline at arm's length. But I quickly became convinced I will like her prodigiously. When did she arrive?"

Having not been able to get a word in edgewise during the previous monologue, Darcy now found Georgie staring at him, fairly bouncing on her heels.

"Yesterday," he replied soberly. "She arrived merely by chance for the public day. She is touring Derbyshire with her aunt and uncle. They were staying in the inn in Lambton. She and her sister Jane are acquainted with the Bingleys, so I invited them to stay. They live near Bingley's estate in Hertfordshire."

Georgie pouted. "I already know that from your letters!" she said dismissively and then, with a roguish twinkle in her eye, "You like her, don't you?"

Not wishing to lie by denying this, Darcy grasped for something innocuous to say, and said nothing.

"Ooh! Be like that then!" hissed Georgie. "I am not a child! I'd better get back before I am missed!" And with something close to a stamp of her foot, Georgie hurried out, pausing only briefly at the door to say, 'you drink too much wine!' as her Parthian shot*.

Darcy merely raised his eyebrows and handed the bloody wineglass back to Finn.

#*#

Dinner had its moments of awkwardness. Darcy had let Mrs Reynolds determine the seating arrangements and, on filing into the dining room, he found himself with Mrs Gardiner on his left and Caroline on his right. He sincerely hoped his housekeeper was not harbouring any expectations in Miss Bingley's direction. At the foot of the table, Bingley had been directed to Georgie's left while Elizabeth and Jane were put on her right. But as Darcy watched, Bingley spoke to Elizabeth and exchanged places with so that she was seated next to her uncle while Charles took her place next to Jane. Noticing Caroline's lips thin during these manoeuvres partly reconciled Darcy to his position next to Miss Bingley. Darcy pulled out his chair and they all sat.

Miss Bingley's behaviour during the rest of the meal was haughty and insufferable but Darcy soon relaxed when he discovered Mrs Gardiner to be unflappable. Darcy then made the mistake of directing too much of his attention towards Elizabeth and Georgie. The other end of the table definitely looked more fun.

His relaxed vigilance came at a price however, as Caroline's subsequent behaviour would show. The men did not sit long over the wine afterwards. Hurst would gladly have done so but he had no supporters amidst the other three. Upon their entering the drawing room, Caroline quickly raced to the harp, eager to show her proficiency on Mrs Darcy's long abandoned instrument. Miss Bingley's performance was creditable and when Georgie took her turn at the piano, Caroline was quick to cite their common aesthetic as true lovers of music.

Bingley then begged the Bennet sisters for a song and was highly pleased with their subsequent duet. Georgie played along and, listening keenly to the sisters' voices, begged Elizabeth to perform a solo with her afterwards. Elizabeth's voice was sweet but had not much range, but this deficiency was cleverly disguised by Georgie, who chose a piece which suited Elizabeth exactly. Miss Darcy glanced repeatedly at her brother during the rendition, who sat in rapt attention.

This could not be brooked by Miss Bingley. When the tea came in, she exerted herself to assist Miss Darcy as hostess. She served Elizabeth last, and dropped what was left of the jug of milk in her rival's lap as she leaned over to add it to Elizabeth's tea.

"Oh! How clumsy of me!" exclaimed Miss Bingley, apparently distraught.

Louisa could barely suppress a giggle.

Both Jane and Mrs Gardiner got up to assist in mopping up but it was Georgie who ended up escorting Elizabeth off to her bedchamber, claiming it as her right as hostess.

Miss Bingley's gambit won the game but not the tournament. The party broke up soon afterwards, so she gained little more of Darcy's company and none of his attention—he fell into a discussion of politics with Mr Gardiner.

Darcy was heartily glad to escape into the night to feed. He was heartsick. Coming on top of the disappointment of his hopes, Caroline's extraordinary behaviour was too much. He knew the situation between himself and Elizabeth was hopeless but he still valued her company. He wanted to make up for his previous poor behaviour in Hertfordshire and Kent, to at least part as friends; but he felt she would be completely justified in leaving Pemberley tomorrow based on how she had been treated today. Only the thought that she would be unlikely to do so in consideration of Jane gave Darcy any peace.

Wandering disconsolately back to the manor house in the moonlight, Darcy began dwelling on the blissful night he had spent holding Elizabeth in his arms on the roof, lying beside her on her bed. It seemed too awful to go back to his chamber to lie alone until the sun rose and he was blessed with slumber. He briefly considered running along the river to kill time, as he had done several times since returning to Pemberley when particularly restless. Somehow he did not have the heart for it. Finally, he made his decision. He needed to see her again, if only to watch her sleep for a while. If she woke, he would apologise for the insults she had received under his roof.

Darcy scaled the walls of the manor house easily, as he did every night. He paused briefly at his own bedchamber to throw his hat inside, before climbing on up to her window. It was ajar as expected. The sash creaked slightly as he through it up, clearly it had swollen after yesterday's storm. Reaching the bed, he saw Elizabeth roll onto her back, possibly disturbed slightly by his entrance. Darcy reached out to draw a chair up beside her bedside, so that he might spend the remainder of the night in vigil, as he had done for so many hours at Rosings. The chair looked decidedly uncomfortable.

Sighing, Darcy gave in to his need to be beside her and slipped his boots off. He lay down carefully, so as not to disturb her, but the bed still creaked under his weight and his shadow passed across her face. She turned towards him and he distinctly heard her say 'Settle down, Misty' as she drew the sheets up about her neck. Then she opened her eyes and gasped.

"Sorry! It's only me!" assured Darcy.

Elizabeth relaxed. "What are you doing here?" she whispered. "I thought you had decided not to visit me again."

"That was my intention. But I felt so bad about Caroline's behaviour. I wanted to apologise. I hope your gown is not spoilt?"

"Of course not. It is only muslin. Perhaps if it were silk like Caroline's gown..." she mused. "Do not worry about it. Georgie apologised before you and Mrs Reynolds took it off to wash immediately."

Apology offered, Darcy found himself too comfortable to move.

"Do you like my sister?"

"Immensely. We had quite a comfortable cose*. I tried to get her to return to the drawing room once a maid turned up, but she wouldn't hear of it. Georgiana is a lovely girl and very talented too."

"My aunt would have heartily agreed with you up until two years ago," said Darcy, "but Georgie is not as easy to manage as she once was."

"She is growing up. That is all," reassured Elizabeth. "She wants to find her independence. You need to be careful not to treat her like a child. She will chafe at her leading strings*."

"Wise words," replied Darcy. "It seems not so long ago that she was running up and down the corridors, overturning vases."

"It must be difficult—with the ten year age gap between you. But you have reminded me of something in which I have been quite remiss."

Turning she plucked the rose from the jug on the nightstand, where she had placed it after Jane had come to bid her goodnight. "Thank you for the rose," said Elizabeth. "It's perfume is wonderful."

"That is why I chose a red one," he said, reaching out to the stem. "Their perfume is headier than the white."

Elizabeth shifted her fingers upward to accommodate his hand and closed gently around the thorn.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*all and sundry—everyone, or more exactly, everyone and every little bit late 14C from old English syndrig, seperate; related to the verb sunder, to split.

*Privy—to share a secret

*lee of the door. In modern houses, doors are generally arranged so that they open against a wall. In older houses they tend to be set away from the wall. Interestingly, I have heard that English bedchamber doors have their hinge on the long side of the wall, so that people in the room are largely screened from newcomers by the door opening inwards. French doors are the opposite. The hinge is set on short side, so the occupants of the room are visible as the door opens.

*Parthian shot—to get the last word in as the speaker departs. The Parthian shot is a light horse military tactic made famous in the West by the Parthians, an ancient Iranian people. While in real or feigned retreat their horse archers would turn their bodies back in full gallop to shoot at the pursuing enemy.

*cose—a cosy, intimate talk

*leading strings—strings tied to children's clothing that functioned like a leash, similar to modern child harnesses.


	41. Engagement

**Thanks to _alix33_ for corrections.**

 **Suggestions for the title of Chapter 40 were:**

 **"Caroline Conspires" by _Lee3619_ ,**

"The **untamed Shrew" by _Brytte_ _Mystere._**

 **"Temptation" by _Deanna27_ ,**

 **"An Insufferable Houseguest" or "A Cozy Cose" by _Chica_ _de_ _Los_ _Ojas_ _Cafe_ ,**

 **"Thorns in the way" by _Laure Saint-Yves,_**

 **"A Thorn by Any Other Name" by _Windchimed_ ,**

 **"As it ever was", "like old times" or simply "Caroline" by _nessy22_ ,**

 **"Kissed by a Rose" or "My Love is a Red Red Rose" by _Sacredwoman2K_ ,**

 **"tempting fate", "deliberately", "on purpose", "mind set" by _LMFG_ ,**

 **"A headier perfume" by _Clara84_ ,**

 **"every rose has its thorn", "every night has its dawn" by anon,**

 **"Thorn apart, brought together" by guest,**

 **"Every rose has its thorn" by _nanciellen_ ,**

 **"Spilled Milk", "Surprise, Surprise" by guest**

 **There were many good ones, including "A headier perfume" by _Clara84_ , "Kissed by a Rose" by _Sacredwoman2K_ and "Every rose has its thorn" by _nanciellen_. I was looking for something that would apply to the whole chapter so I decided to go with "sturm und drang" based on your suggestions _LMFG_.**

* * *

 **Chapter 41**

Elizabeth knew she had made a potentially fatal mistake as soon as the thorn pierced her flesh. She felt her hand seized, followed by a tumult of sensations so intense that she wondered for a moment if the bed was spinning around. Her heart pounding, she found herself collapsed back on her pillow, staring at the canopy. Strangely, Lizzy felt she was floating about an inch above the mattress. It was an altogether weird and giddy* sensation.

Lizzy pulled herself from her dreamlike state, feeling as if she had only just woken and was trying to determine what day it was. Then she immediately began to parse her experience. She remembered the delicious sensation as his mouth had enveloped her finger, his tongue running over her wound. She had experienced again that weird leap in her loins, followed by a new sensation—a bubbling up of joy in her chest. Then a flurry of swirling wind and shadows.

Finding herself alone, Elizabeth pushed herself up to a seated position. In the pale moonlight, she immediately spied the rose abandoned on the counterpane and picked it up carefully, so as not to prick herself again. It had not been a dream. Was he gone?

"Fitzwilliam?" Her voice sounded scared and hesitant to her ears.

"Elizabeth?" came his reply from the far side of the room. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, Fitzwilliam. I am fine."

She paused, waiting for him to return, but he did not. Nor did he say anything. The silence was deafening.

Lizzy was distracted when something warm slid over the back of her wrist. She shuddered and pulled her hand back in fright. Looking down she saw a dark droplet fall to the sheet and gasped.

"Are you sure you are all right?" came his voice again. He seemed closer now.

"It is nothing," said Elizabeth calmly, pressing the handkerchief she had retrieved from under her pillow onto the wound. "I am bleeding. Who knew that a tiny thorn could do so much damage?"

She heard him approach the bed. The weird and bright light of a sugar match flared, like magic. With macabre flickering stark shadows playing over his face, Darcy looked like some unearthly being, but strangely handsome. He lit the candle on the nightstand, shook out the match and stepped backwards into the shadows.

"It is only a pinprick," Lizzy declared. "But it seems deep. It does bleed so."

"It is because I licked it," said Darcy. "Here is some basilicum powder."

Untwisting a cap, he stepped forward to deposit what looked like a small vinaigrette on the nightstand and retreated into the darkness again.

Having never had the need for basilicum powder before, Lizzy picked it up and sniffed it before shaking a liberal amount on the wound. It seemed to do the trick. She attempted to tie a clean corner of her handkerchief around her finger—not so easy since it was her right index finger that was bleeding.

"Let me help," said Darcy after a moment's hesitation.

Reassured by his composed voice, Lizzy relinquished the handkerchief to him, watching him steadily.

"So you are like a leech," she observed dryly as he tied the handkerchief in a knot.

A pained expression suffused Darcy's face. "I suppose so," he said dispassionately. "There must be some anti-clotting substance in my saliva." He would not look at her. "You see how untrustworthy I am. Every time I think I have mastered my condition, I fail again."

Having finished tying the knot, Darcy attempted to step away again but Elizabeth stayed him, gently grasping his hand. "You are doing very well."

"I am not," came his terse reply. He sounded almost angry.

Before Elizabeth could say another word he was gone. She turned quickly on his movement and was just in time to see his crouched form obliterate the moonlight of the open window before he disappeared.

Feeling a little annoyed at being abandoned in such a peremptory way, Elizabeth lay back on the pillow, trying to understand her situation. After reassuring herself that Darcy had left merely to ensure her safety, Elizabeth began to wonder what right she had to be angry anyway. It was clear her indignation went beyond the pique she had felt yesterday at his sudden sundering of their nascent courtship. She knew she craved his company, delighted in his touch. She did not wish for it to be over. Surely there must be some way to make it work?

Lizzy took a deep breath and tried to think. If Darcy had found a way to reduce his desire for blood with the factitious airs, perhaps with further experimentation he could eventually eliminate it altogether? If he was right in thinking that the solution lay in alchemy, surely she, as her father's daughter might be able to help him find the way? If he was willing to endure the discomfort of lashing himself to his bed every night in the meantime to ensure her safety, surely she could be brave enough to be his companion in adversity?

Convinced that there must be a solution in those alchemical texts of her father's, Elizabeth fell asleep sometime near dawn trying to recall the pages of the volume her father had loaned her, walking in her dreams into the still-room of Longbourn and picking up the book from the desk where she had last discarded it, turning the pages and trying to remember what was on each one. She had not studied the book very well, but her imagination filled the gaps with pictures weird and fanciful.

She was woken at seven-thirty by Jane's banging on the door.

"Why did you lock it?" demanded Jane on finally gaining admittance.

"Sorry," replied Lizzy. "I must have done so absentmindedly."

This was entirely true, for Lizzy had not been expecting Darcy to visit her, but she realised that part of her must have been quietly wishing that he would do so.

"Come," said Jane, offering the brass pail she was carrying in one hand while she held her bandbox with the other. "Wash, while the water is still warm."

Elizabeth obediently started her ablutions before becoming suspicious of Jane's unaccustomed pushiness.

"I wonder," Lizzy teased, "whether the Bingleys will be at breakfast? They generally rose quite late at Netherfield."

"Charles says that Caroline thinks it is undignified to rise before eleven," Jane replied earnestly, "but he felt that the country air here in the north would likely wake him. He rather thought he might like to come fishing with us this morning."

Lizzy smiled as she drew on her stays. "Yes, the country air is very refreshing."

Mr Bingley was indeed at breakfast when the Bennet sisters came down with the Gardiners. He was reading the paper in an easy chair, sipping a cup of coffee when they entered the parlour. His sisters were nowhere in sight. Clearly the Derbyshire air was not so enlivening to them. Ever his affable self, Bingley jumped up and quickly put his paper aside to join his companions at the table.

In the end only the Gardiners went fishing again. Lizzy and Jane chose instead to stroll around the rose garden with Mr Bingley. And it was not too long before Lizzy unobtrusively separated herself from the others by dawdling to compare the perfume of the red roses to the white ones. Darcy was right, the perfume of the red was headier. Jane and Bingley strolled on, entirely oblivious they had lost their chaperone. Lizzy watched as Bingley plucked a white rose for Jane.

After half an hour of sunshine, Lizzy felt Pemberley's library calling to her. Casting a fond glance at Jane and Bingley who were smiling and talking together not far away, she turned back to the house.

Elizabeth thought she might be able to begin her research immediately—surely Darcy must have some alchemical texts? However, her subsequent search of the likely shelves only produced more modern texts which she was sure Darcy must have already consulted for his current experiments. She was forced to content herself with these, hoping they would at least give her a better understanding of how he generated the factitious airs. Taking a selection of three volumes, Lizzy mounted the library steps and settled into her sunny nook, using her shawl as a pillow for her bottom.

The books proved a little dry. But Lizzy quite determinedly perused their pages in between glancing up to spy on Jane and Mr Bingley, who could conveniently be seen in the rose garden from her perch. They had settled onto a stone bench in the shade of the gazebo, side by side.

Sometime later, when Lizzy had made it halfway through the etchings in the second book, she saw Mr Bingley go down on his knee. She was squinting to try to read the expression on Jane's face when she was distracted from this very interesting development by the creak of a door. She looked up to see Darcy entering the room from the hall.

"I thought I might find you here," he said as he approached the steps wearing his dark glasses.

Lizzy stood up with her book in one hand and descended to meet him. "Good morning."

Darcy tilted his head and bit his lip. "I wanted to apologise for this morning," he said finally. "—disturbing you again, what happened, and then leaving you so abruptly."

"Fitzwilliam," said Lizzy gently, "There is no need to apologise. I hoped you would visit me again. What happened was partly my fault. I should not have been so careless. I understand why you left so quickly. My finger was tempting you, wasn't it?"

"Yes," he replied dismally.

"I have been thinking," said Lizzy resolutely. "Your progress with the factitious airs is encouraging. There must be a cure. Perhaps I can help you find it?"

Darcy sighed. "I applaud your optimism. But I think you have a mistaken idea about the factitious airs. They do not stave off my hunger or satisfy it in any way. All they do is make the blood taken by venesection palatable. I still need the same amount of it. Finn just thinks it makes it all a bit more civilised."

"Oh," said Lizzy, disappointed. "So you no longer believe the study of alchemy worth pursuing?"

"On the contrary, a better understanding of the properties of blood and my need for it is probably the only way I am ever likely to master my condition, but I do not think it will be easy. I believe an understanding of vitalism will also be crucial but it is a deplorably primitive science. I do not think the answer will come quickly. It will take years, possibly as long as a lifetime."

Darcy looked at her imploringly. He so wished she could join him in his dark crusade but it seemed too much to ask.

"I want to help you," Lizzy repeated. "I have been trying to understand this chemistry book but it would perhaps be better if I started with the alchemical texts belonging to my father. You seemed to think those might be useful when you met him at the Netherfield ball?"

Darcy stared at her, trying to understand what she was offering. Did she want to be his research assistant or his wife? Hiding behind his dark glasses, he felt his heart contract painfully, as if it was gripped by the manacles on his bed. He was too afraid to ask.

"I couldn't see any alchemical texts on the shelf," continued Lizzy, completely unaware of the tumult she had stirred inside him. "Am I overlooking them?" she asked, walking towards the shelf from which she extracted the volume in her hands.

"They are over here," said Darcy. "I couldn't bring myself to put them on the open shelves. I know my father would have disapproved."

Lizzy followed Darcy as he walked towards the shelves on the opposite side of the room. He pulled a book from one end of the shelf but did not pass it on to her. Instead, he slid his right hand into the space where it had resided and then grasped the wooden moulding of the upright with his left. The entire bookcase swung open, up to the height of a vertical crossbeam. It was a door.

"I have hidden them in here," said Darcy, stepping towards the aperture.

"My goodness!" said Lizzy, peering past him. "It is a secret room! I always wanted one of these!"

Darcy could not help himself smiling at her childish enthusiasm. "It is the muniment room*," he explained.

Just then, a knock on a door made them both jump.

"Oh, ho, Darcy!" came Caroline's voice from somewhere nearby. "Mrs Reynolds has breakfast on the table! Come now! You must be hungry! She says she has procured a fine beefsteak for you!"

Elizabeth heard footsteps but could not place their direction.

"She is in the study!" hissed Darcy urgently.

The footsteps stopped and the handle of the interior door to Darcy's study began to turn. Darcy grasped Elizabeth's hand and, with a jerk, Elizabeth felt herself pulled suddenly towards him. Light was extinguished. In the dark she found herself suddenly pressed up against Darcy in a very tight space. She could not help but notice that he smelled very nice.

"Sorry," he whispered, trying to adjust his position. "I thought there was more room in here."

"Indeed," joked Lizzy, very conscious of his nearness, "it seems more like a muniment closet."

"Ssh!" warned Darcy as they heard someone enter the room.

The footsteps approached and walked right past their hiding place.

"Fitzwilliam!" came Miss Bingley's saccharine voice. "Olly Olly oxen free*! Breakfast is ready!"

They heard her footsteps pass and then mount the Iibrary steps on the opposite side of the room.

"This is her shawl!" came the barely audible hiss from across the room.

"Perhaps I should step out?" offered Elizabeth in a whisper. "She has found my shawl on the windowsill."

"No!" hissed Darcy in return.

More steps approached from the hall—the brisk clack of Miss Darcy's shoes—and another door opened.

"Caroline!" called Georgie's bell-like voice from within the library. "We are ready to sit down to breakfast! Mr Hurst begs your company!"

"I cannot find Fitzwilliam, Georgie," replied Caroline, coming down the steps. "Mrs Reynolds seemed to think he had gone into the study or the library but he is not here. I found Miss Elizabeth's shawl here with some books."

"Perhaps she went out to the rose garden with her sister," replied Georgie. "Do come! The Bennets and your brother ate earlier. Fitzwilliam will turn up if he is hungry. He is not much of a morning person these days."

Two pairs of footsteps receded. Relaxing, Darcy was embarrassed to discover his hands resting on the back of Elizabeth's waist. He was not sure when they had crept there. He released her and swivelled his chest around so that he could open the door again, being careful not to hit Elizabeth with his elbows in the confined space. He had just finished this manoeuvre, when the clack of Miss Darcy's heels returned briskly and seemed to stop directly outside their hiding place. When the door opened a crack, Darcy's hand flew out to hold it in place. Miss Darcy's eye appeared at the gap and her lips opened to display her teeth in a smile.

"Go away!" hissed Fitzwilliam.

Georgie laughed and closed the door again.

"What is it?" asked Caroline's voice, coming back into the room.

"Oh, nothing!" said Georgie. "I merely dropped my keys."

The steps retreated again.

Heaving a sigh, Darcy strove to reassure Elizabeth. "Do not worry, Georgie was just teasing me. She will not reveal she found us here."

Elizabeth did not reply immediately, she merely looked up at him with an expression on her face that set his heart racing. "To be perfectly honest," she assured him, "I would not mind if she did."

Something inside Darcy's heart leapt at this declaration. He became suddenly aware that the last thing he wanted to do was open the door. He was rather enjoying being cramped. Pulling his glasses off, his hands snaked around Elizabeth's body once more and he bent to kiss her. This proved a challenge in the confined space but without thinking he contorted his body to close the gap between their lips. They came together like two magnets, a spark of electricity zinging between them just before their lips touched.

"Ah!" breathed Elizabeth as the jolt continued through her body.

Darcy took the opportunity as her lips parted to push his tongue into her mouth. Some part of his brain protested that he was taking things too fast for a maiden but he couldn't bring himself to withdraw. At the same one, a more rational part of his mind had worked out why they were so cramped for space. In addition to the two stacks of alchemy books that Darcy had piled there on his return from London, he remembered that Mrs Reynolds had moved the commode into the muniment room because the lock on the library door had broken. It was a baroque commode the size of a small desk that concealed a chamber pot under its parquetry top. This realisation immediately suggested a solution to their cramped conditions. With lips still locked, Darcy lifted Lizzy and set her bottom upon the polished surface of the commode. The rearrangement proved effective in lifting Lizzy a little higher so that he could kiss her without stooping. Darcy sighed when he felt Lizzy's hand run through his hair, then groaned when one of her slippered feet brushed his thigh. His breeches felt instantly tight. Fear for her safety suddenly became paramount in his mind.

"Elizabeth," he said breaking free, "We should stop!"

Noting the panic in his voice, Elizabeth immediately obeyed, though it was the last think she wanted to do. Darcy stepped away, fumbled for his glasses, and pushed the door open again. Amidst a tumult of emotions Elizabeth steadied her mind by quickly reverting to their original mission. She slipped off the commode to the floor and stooped to pick up some of the alchemy books. They were heavy old tomes.

"Pass them to me and I will set them on the table for you," said Darcy, regaining his composure. "I had better go to breakfast otherwise Mrs Reynolds will not be happy. Will you come with me?"

"I'm afraid it is Caroline who will not be happy if we enter together. Perhaps I will go to the garden to find Jane and Mr Bingley. If they are amenable to being disturbed from their tête-à-tête we will meet you in the breakfast parlour."

"Very well," replied Darcy grumpily. He was already heartily sick of Caroline's imposition on his domain.

The books were transferred, their hands touching accidentally several times during the process. It was if some weird gravitational pull occasionally brought them together when they were least suspecting it.

Finally, with one last parting look at Elizabeth, Darcy turned to go.

"Fitzwilliam!"

Darcy turned back expectantly. Elizabeth approached him and with a tender movement stepped round him to smooth his hair.

"I'm sorry. I mussed your hair earlier."

Darcy smiled reminiscently and trapped her hand briefly to kiss it. "I expect you imminently, regardless of whether Bingley and your sister can be extracted from the rose garden. Do not fail me. I cannot survive Caroline alone."

Elizabeth smiled and promised. Then he was gone, leaving Lizzy feeling terribly bereft.

As she tied the strings to her bonnet on the way to the garden, Lizzy consoled herself in her solitude with the thought that good news might await her. But after traversing the garden from one end to the other, she was unable to find either Bingley or Jane. Elizabeth was about to return to the manor house alone when she spied the errant couple walking back from the river with the Gardiners.

As soon as she was close enough to be able to read their expressions, Elizabeth guessed the state of developments. Jane looked radiant, Bingley very pleased with himself, and the Gardiners happy and relieved.

"Oh, Lizzy!" cried Jane running towards her. "We were looking for you!"

Jane's lip trembled. Her face was bursting with emotion. From their past months together, Elizabeth knew her sister perfectly equal to bursting into tears at the slightest provocation, so she said nothing but squeezed her sister's hand. They rejoined Mr Bingley who was conversing animatedly with the Gardiners on the subject of fishing. They all walked back to the house together.

On reaching the breakfast parlour, Bingley made his announcement. Darcy got up to congratulate his friend heartily, sending to his cellars for champagne. Georgiana smiled. Louisa looked stunned while Hurst did not bother to look up from his beefsteak.

And Caroline? She was livid. All her months of plotting and scheming in London had been countered by a single day at Pemberley.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*giddy—Old English gidig 'insane', literally 'possessed by a god', from the base of God. Current senses date from late Middle English.

*Olly Olly oxen free —Meaning, back four centuries ago when we have the first known games of hide-and-seek) that anyone still hiding (out) can come back without getting tagged (free).


	42. Action and reaction

**Sorry** , **_LESLIE E_** **, a muniment room is a room for storing important documents like title deeds. Thanks for pointing out that omission in the footnotes.**

 **Suggestions for the title of Chapter 41 were:**

 **"Sardines" by** ** _nessy22_** **,**

 **"engaging" by** ** _Deanna27_** **,**

 **"Coming together" by** ** _Brytte Mystere,_**

 **"Holding out for a Cure" by** ** _nanciellen_** **,**

 **"Sparks" or "Vital Spark" or "Hide-and-seek in the muniment room" by** ** _Laure Saint-Yves,_**

 **"Licked by a Lich", "Kisses in the Dark", "The Secret Room" by** ** _fastreader12_** **,**

 **"Unexpected Slings and Arrows" by** ** _Dizzy Lizzy.60,_**

 **Gee, tough one. I decided to go with "Engagement" based on your suggestion,** ** _Deanna27_** **.**

* * *

 **Chapter 42**

Caroline was livid. From various things that Darcy had let slip at Netherfield, she'd had high hopes of pairing her brother with Miss Darcy—a match that was just the prelude to her grander plans. The rich and landed Mr Darcy was aloof, but with the continued intercourse between the families brought about by the first intermarriage, Caroline was sure she could eventually secure a second for herself. Her visit to Pemberley had been her bridgehead*. Now all her plans lay in tatters thanks to her silly younger brother and his ridiculous infatuation with an impecunious country squire's daughter.

But Caroline was a well educated lady of the world. She had not learned nothing from Wellington's exploits, relayed to her from every side over the course of the Peninsular War*. She had suffered a setback but she was not defeated. She needed to retreat, regroup and plan her next engagement.

So Caroline smiled and congratulated the happy pair. She was quite the actress and she managed to convince many that she was thrilled by the turn of events—all, that is, but four people at the table: Darcy and Elizabeth, who could both feel the resentment simmering under the veneer of Caroline's apparently cheery demeanour; Louisa, who knew her sister too well; and Georgie, who had been apprised by her aunt, the countess, that Miss Bingley was exactly the type of encroaching mushroom* who should be avoided at all costs.

When Darcy excused himself after breakfast to continue his business with his steward, the Gardiners resolved to take a stroll along the river, which prospect had been beckoning to them as they fished. They immediately secured their nieces and Charles as companions. But Georgie declined to accompany them on the basis of some minor household emergency in the kitchens. In truth, she wished to apprise Mrs Reynolds of the exciting developments between her brother and Miss Elizabeth. Darcy's faith in his sister's silence was not entirely misplaced—Georgie was not about to blab about the incident of the muniment room but she could not help divulging her hopes and wishes to Mrs Reynolds who had been like a mother to Miss Darcy from the time of Mrs Darcy's untimely demise.

Rather than join the others by the river, Caroline chose instead to walk in the rose garden with Louisa while she pondered her options, citing fatigue from her journey. But her day got worse upon going upstairs to equip herself. Her maid tearfully admitted that the parasol that exactly matched the gown Miss Bingley was wearing was missing. Caroline had been carrying the parasol not the day before and could remember holding it as she lurked in Lambton, waiting for Miss Darcy's advent.

After severely scolding her abigail* for failing in her duties, Miss Bingley made enquiries with Mrs Reynolds as to whether she had left the parasol in Miss Darcy's carriage. As the footmen were being sent for, Caroline's memory recovered wonderfully and she became convinced that she had stood the parasol against a wall at the inn in Lambton when she took tea. Unfortunately her sobbing maid was in no fit state to retrieve it, and although Mrs Reynolds offered to send a footman to the village to make enquiries, based on her experience in Hurst's household, Miss Bingley had no faith in the ability of a male servant to retrieve such an object. Clearly the only competent person capable of retrieving the expensive parasol was herself. Miss Darcy's landau was then quickly offered by the housekeeper who had already been begged by Georgiana to find some project for the Bingley sisters that did not involve herself. Forced to flatten the elaborate coiffure she was sporting under a bonnet, Caroline set out for Lambton with Louisa, revolving schemes in her head. She was intent on retrieving first her parasol and then her brother by whatever means possible.

Georgie's interest in the household accounts evaporated as soon as the Bingley sisters disappeared down the drive. She was beside herself with excitement at the prospect that her brother may have at last fallen in love. In the housekeeper's sitting room, Mrs Reynolds was soon guardian of the family secret.

"I must admit, Miss Darcy," said Mrs Reynolds. "I have been very worried about your brother since he returned this summer. He is very changed—and not for the better. This illness has hit him hard. He has retreated into his shell yet again. I saw it happen twice before when your parents passed away. I had such hopes that he would finalise things with his cousin Anne this spring; it was quite a shock when you wrote she had married Colonel Fitzwilliam. If your brother has fallen in love, I would welcome it. Miss Elizabeth seems a nice girl—pretty and well brought up."

"Indeed!" replied Georgie. "I would very much like her as my sister, and Miss Bennet too! She is very sweet. We must do all we can to promote the match!"

* * *

In Lambton, the landlord of the inn had immediately retrieved the parasol from his glass cupboard upon Caroline's advent—the cleanest place in his establishment. He apologised that it had not already been sent on to Pemberley—his wife, who had served them yesterday, had gone off to the next village to see her sick father. As it turned out, he was intending to send one of the boys out to Pemberley with a letter that had arrived for Mr Gardiner that very morning. He would have sent the parasol with it if he had known its owner.

The landlord was not impertinent enough to ask Miss Bingley to take Mr Gardiner's letter but he certainly hoped she would offer to do so—with his wife absent, he was very busy. Nor was Caroline about to offer her services as a courier, but as she was about to dismiss the proprietor with a curt thank you for the return of her property, she remembered that Mr Gardiner was expecting a message from London regarding the arrival of his ship. If this was the expected missive, the Bennet sisters' sojourn at Pemberley might be about to come to an early end! Caroline graciously deigned to take the letter.

Back in the privacy of the coach with her sister, Caroline soon ascertained that Mr Gardiner's missive had been sealed not with wax, but only a wafer. Leaving nothing to chance, Miss Bingley opened the single page and scanned its contents. Her face immediately fell.

"Well?" asked Louisa.

"They are not called home," said Caroline sourly. "In fact it is the very opposite. Apparently the winds from the Indies have not been favourable and they do not expect his vessel for another week at the earliest."

"A pity," commiserated Louisa.

"Wait!" exclaimed Caroline as the most delicious scheme popped into her head. "There is nothing extraordinary about this letter—the paper, the wafer, the hand—who is to know if I substitute another?"

"You cannot do that!" expostulated Louisa. "Mr Gardiner will know he has been tricked as soon as he returns to London!"

"But he will be in London, won't he?" said Caroline sweetly. "And Jane and Elizabeth will be safely returned to Hertfordshire. Besides, what are the Gardiners to me?"

"They may very well soon be our relatives!"

"Nonsense! Once Jane is gone, we will talk sense to our brother. This marriage is not what our father would have wanted. Why did he go to the great expense of sending Charles to Eton and Oxford?—so that he could advance himself in the world!"

"Jane is a squire's daughter," reasoned Louisa.

"With Charles's wealth, he could marry into the first circles! I thought we agreed that Miss Darcy would be ideal!"

"She doesn't seem interested in Charles and is not as meek as I first believed her," opined Louisa.

"Carpe diem*, Louisa!" urged Caroline.

"I thought you did not wish to go fishing?" replied Louisa, puzzled.

Caroline rolled her eyes. "How long is it since you left the seminary, Louisa? You seem to have quite forgot your lessons! Why else has this letter been so fortuitously delivered into my hands?"

"I don't know, Caroline. It seems a very risky strategy to me."

"Nonsense! I have already convinced Charles not to exercise his option to buy Netherfield. Holme Hall in Hemel Hempstead is closer to London and a much grander residence! Once the Bennets are gone, we will never see them again! They do not travel in the first circles!"

"I'm not sure, Caroline," wavered Louisa. "Charles has already proposed. It will not look well if he abandons her now."

"Nonsense! A letter to say he mistook his feelings is all that is required. It should be done quickly, before they start reading the Banns, but neither of them are in their home parish now!"

Louisa was still uneasy but was never one to stand in Caroline's way. Satisfied with her scheme, Caroline leaned back on the squabs and began composing the letter in her mind.

* * *

The missive was waiting on the salver in the vestibule when the Gardiners returned for luncheon with Bingley and Jane around three. Mr Gardiner opened it immediately. Mrs Gardiner was quite vexed when her husband announced that his ship had docked a little early; he would need to return to London immediately.

To tell the truth, Mr Gardiner was a little disappointed too. He was enjoying his holiday and the timing was most unfortunate. Yesterday, he had given his tentative blessing to Jane's betrothal after Mr Bingley applied to him, and had straightaway written to his brother-in-law for his blessing and opinion on arrangements, urging a quick response. If Mr Bennet could be prevailed upon to make haste, which was not certain, the earliest Mr Gardiner could expect a reply was tomorrow. Thus, it was agreed that the Gardiners would wait for the morning mail before their departure. It would certainly be nice to have Jane's wedding date settled before they departed.

Mr Bingley was quite distraught upon discovering Jane's earlier than projected departure. He had hoped to spend as much time as possible with her before escorting his sisters north. It had then been his intention to hasten back to Netherfield as soon as Caroline and Louisa were safely deposited with relatives. His lease on Netherfield did not expire until the 30th of August and it was his intention to spend his last days at Netherfield with Jane as his bride. Nonetheless, he was determined to go forward with his plans despite being deprived of Jane's company before he had expected.

Jane too was disappointed to leave so early and also to discover that Charles did not intend to purchase Netherfield. It would have been so convenient to always have her mother and sisters close by. Yet their nearness early in the marriage would be comforting, particularly if she had any embarrassing questions. Jane had assured Charles that if his heart was set on Hemel Hampstead, she was sure she would love it too.

The Gardiners' news was announced to their hosts over lunch. Charles's disappointment in no way matched Darcy's. He felt himself temporarily unable to breathe. The ray of hope that Elizabeth had offered him yesterday was fast retreating. A grim and lonely existence as master of his domain awaited him. Georgie too was disappointed to find her matchmaking schemes stillborn and cast an unhappy glance at Mrs Reynolds.

Elizabeth was unusually silent during the meal. Her plans to get to know Darcy better were all in disarray. After her constitutional by the river, she had intended to spend what remained of the afternoon cataloguing the alchemy books and writing to her father for his advice on which she should study first. Now it seemed she would have to make a decision by herself. She had room in her trunk to take two or three of the books back to Longbourn. From there, she could study them with her father's assistance.

When the table broke up, Caroline immediately launched herself at Mr Darcy, asking for his help in selecting a book from Pemberley's wonderful library. They went off with Louisa and Hurst in tow. Elizabeth took the opportunity to approach Miss Darcy.

"Georgiana, it has been so wonderful meeting you. I was hoping you would be interested in corresponding once I returned to Longbourn. Your brother has some interesting books in his library and I was hoping to relay my opinion on them to him."

"Oh, Elizabeth, it is such a shame you are departing early! I would love to correspond with you! Brother tells me you are interested in alchemy! I never thought I would hear him admit to an interest in such a subject!" she giggled. "I could not have been more surprised if he had announced his intention to become a wizard! I had so hoped to show you our still-room this afternoon, but I suppose you will wish to rest before your departure?"

"Not at all," replied Elizabeth. "I can pack my trunk in a trice. I would love to see the still-room."

After establishing the Gardiners, Bingley and Jane were entertained—they had determined on a game of badminton on the front lawn—Georgiana led Elizabeth down the vestibule stairs into the bowels of the house.

"Hardly anyone goes down this set of steps any more," remarked Georgie. "The servants have their own stairs at the other end of the hall. Only my mother used them frequently. She was very much mistress of the household apparently. It is hard to imagine, because my aunt, the countess, never goes near the kitchens, but she was brought up in a very different way. My mother and aunt Catherine were educated in the old style—to speak French and run an efficient household. You have already met my aunt Catherine in Kent; what did you think of her?" asked Georgie very innocently.

"She certainly is mistress of her household," replied Elizabeth.

Georgie broke into an unholy grin. "Absolutely! One cannot sneeze without asking aunt Catherine's permission!"

Having taken a few steps along a whitewashed hall, Georgie pulled a chatelaine from her pocket and proceeded to fish amongst some ancient keys.

"All the locks down here were transferred from the old manor house," she said conversationally as she opened the door, "because the blacksmith who made them was some local genius. Only the ones upstairs are new."

They stepped into a light-filled room with enough china and glassware to fill an apothecary. Lizzy gasped in amazement. It made her still room at Longbourn look like the meanest of sculleries. "It is wonderful!" she gasped.

"It is a bit of a shame it is not used any more. My mother used to make so many things here: jam and soap and cordials and perfumes." Georgie stepped towards glassware that lined a wall. "This is where she made the perfumes from rose petals and lavender and the like. Mrs Reynolds showed me when I returned in case I should like to carry on, but I wouldn't know where to start. Mrs Reynolds only helped my mother with the jams and such but she makes those in the kitchens now; and we buy the soaps and cordials these days. Do you know how the stills work?"

"Why, yes!" said Elizabeth, wondering why Darcy did not make use of the apparatus downstairs. "Jane and I make toilet water in Longbourn's still-room, but it is nothing to this!"

"Oh, I do wish you and Jane were staying longer!" exclaimed Georgie. "Must you return with the Gardiners?"

"I'm afraid so, Georgie," replied Elizabeth. "My uncle would not consent to our travelling alone unless we hired a courier, and there is the hire of an additional post-chaise and the extra post charges to consider."

"But surely you could stay until Mr Bingley returned from the north? Would it not be permissible for him to escort you now that he and Jane are betrothed? He could ride outside the carriage."

"I do not think my uncle would agree to it unless they were married," Elizabeth replied.

Temporarily defeated, Georgie proceeded to show Elizabeth her mother's receipt book, written in an elegant hand in a beautiful journal covered in kid*. All the while her mind was bent on finding a way to retain Elizabeth at Pemberley, by hook or crook*. She even formed the desperate determination to write to her aunt, Lady Fitzwilliam, begging her to provide a place in her carriage for the Bennet sisters when she returned to London in a fortnight—even though Georgie could not think her haughty aunt would like it.

Elizabeth was enchanted with the still-room and thought it quite a shame such a wonderful room should be neglected. After a complete tour of the dusty apparatus, she allowed Georgie to escort her upstairs and they went in search of Darcy and the others. They were informed by Mrs Reynolds, whom they encountered in the vestibule, that the Bingley sisters were in the library. Darcy had apparently locked himself in his study with his books and had asked not to be disturbed.

Taking Elizabeth's hand, Georgie tiptoed along the hall and, retrieving her chatelaine once more, quietly let herself and Elizabeth into the study. She was quite disturbed to find her brother collapsed behind his desk in the gloomy study, lit only by the light the seeped through the heavily curtained windows. His head was resting on his folded arms.

"Brother?" Georgie whispered. "Do you have another of your headaches?"

"Yes," Darcy replied in a despondent voice without looking up. Then, sensing Georgie was not alone, he sat upright and saw Elizabeth. "To be truthful, only a minor headache, Georgie," he amended. "I was mostly escaping Caroline."

Georgie's teeth peeped through her lips in a smile at this confidence. "I thought so. Why don't you lie down on the chaise longue? Perhaps I can read to you until it passes?"

"It is not necessary, Georgie, but if you could have Fletcher bring in some of those books on alchemy, it would be much appreciated."

"Certainly, Brother," Georgie replied.

Elizabeth would have accompanied Georgie out but Miss Darcy held her hand up, indicating her wish for Elizabeth to stay. She then pointed to a door let into the wainscotting before departing.

Puzzled, Elizabeth walked to the door and opened it, thinking it might be a drinks cabinet or contain laudanum. It was another small room containing a commode chair.

"I believe my sister wishes you to hide there, so that Fletcher does not see you," offered Darcy after Georgie had quitted the room.

"Oh!" said Elizabeth, obligingly stepping into the closet.

Some ten minutes later, after Fletcher had ferried all the books into the study, Darcy knocked on the door of the closet and Elizabeth stepped out.

"Did Georgie not return?" asked Elizabeth, seeing they were alone.

"No, the sly minx," said Darcy. "She sent word via Fletcher that she would keep Caroline busy."

Elizabeth saw the books had been piled along the desk.

"Please use my desk," said Darcy. "I fear I will have to lie down. My headache is getting worse. Will the light of two candles be sufficient?" he asked, retrieving the sugar matches from his waistcoat. "I have an Argand lamp if you need a brighter light."

"Surely that will disturb you?" asked Elizabeth. "Does not the light exacerbate your headaches?"

"Yes," replied Darcy. "That, and other things."

Upon looking around, Elizabeth saw that the study was very much like the library in design, with the south-facing windows deep set amongst the bookshelves.

"If I sit on the window ledge as I did in the library, I will be behind the curtain. Then I can read and you can sleep. Is there a library ladder?"

"No, but if you climb upon my shoulders you should be able to reach," replied Darcy.

This rather unconventional mode of access worked wonderfully. After placing one foot onto one of Darcy's hands held behind his back, he pulled Lizzy onto his shoulders with the other and she stepped neatly onto the ledge where she received the selected book from him.

When a key scraped in the lock almost an hour later, Elizabeth expected Georgie to enter the room. Lizzy had made good progress in assessing the contents of the book and was just at the stage where she thought it would be useful to write down her thoughts. She poked her head out from behind the curtain, intending to request the inkstand or a travelling desk from Georgie, when Miss Bingley burst into the room, followed closely by Mrs Reynolds carrying a tea tray. Lizzy quickly disappeared behind her curtain but kept her eye to the crack.

"Oh! Poor thing!" said Caroline, hurrying forward and throwing herself to her knees on the carpet beside the chaise-longue where Darcy lay fast asleep.

"Miss Bingley!" hissed the housekeeper as she put down the tray. "Please! If the master has a headache, he requires peace and quiet! He does not like to be disturbed when he is sleeping!"

Ignoring her, Caroline stretched out a hand to Darcy's handsome brow. She had barely touched it when Darcy's hand flew up like lightning to grasp her wrist and he sat bolt upright. His eyes flew open and his mouth opened to bare his fangs.

Miss Bingley let out an ear-piercing shriek and cowered away from him.

Coming to his senses, Darcy let go of Caroline's hand and closed his mouth. Caroline dropped to the floor as her legs gave way under her, continuing to scream at the top of her lungs.

"Miss Bingley!" expostulated Mrs Reynolds as she held her hand to her heart.

In a moment, Georgie had run into the room.

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*bridgehead—any position gained that can be used as a foothold for further advancement, like the more modern 'beachhead'; from the military concept of a position held or to be gained on the enemy side of a river, defile, or other obstacle, to cover the crossing of friendly troops. Derived from the French tête de pont — a High Middle Ages military term, which before the invention of cannons meant the military fortification that protects the end of a bridge.

*Peninsular War—The Peninsular War was a military conflict between Napoleon's empire, the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and the Kingdom of Portugal, for control of the Iberian Peninsula during the Napoleonic Wars. The British Army was commanded by Lt. Gen. Sir Arthur Wellesley, later created the Duke of Wellington.

*encroaching mushroom—more like a toadstool, it springs up from cow manure, ie a humble background.

*abigail—maid. proper name, in Old Testament, Abigail the Carmelitess, a wife of David, from Hebrew Abhigayil, literally "my father is rejoicing," from abh "father" + gil "to rejoice." Used in general sense of "lady's maid" (1660s) from character of that name in Beaumont & Fletcher's "The Scornful Lady."

*Carpe Diem—seize the day

*kid—soft leather made from a young goat.

*by hook or crook—by any means, derives from the custom in medieval England of allowing peasants to take from royal forests whatever deadwood they could pull down with a shepherd's crook or cut with a reaper's bill-hook. This feudal custom was recorded in the 1820s by the English rural campaigner William Cobbett, although the custom itself long pre-dates that reference.


	43. The experiment

**Thanks** **to _alix33_ for corrections. I'm extra-ordinarily terrible at those hyphen thingees, aren't I? :)**

 **Suggestions for the title of Chapter 42 were:**

 **"Hell hath no fury" but for the end "Surprises can be dangerous to your health" by** ** _Deanna27_** **,**

 **"Scheming women" or "Be careful of what you wish for" by** ** _Laure Saint-Yves,_**

 **"Letters and Ladders" or "Secret Actions" by** ** _beaty_** **,**

 **"Unintended Consequences" or "Reap what you sow" by** ** _anita1788_** **,**

 **"Skullduggery" by** ** _Lee3619_** **,**

 **"By Hook or by Crook" by** ** _FatPatricia515_** **,**

 **"Hide and Seek" by** ** _Windchimed_** **,**

 **"sad news" or "shoo the enemy" by** ** _nessy22_** **,**

 **"Caroline works on her demise" by** ** _Brytte Mystere,_**

 **"The Answer to Caroline's (Parasol) Problems" by** ** _fastreader12_** **,**

 **"Revelations" by** ** _guest_** **,**

 **"Curiosity killed the cat" or "Now You See Me" by** ** _Tina_** **,**

 **Ooh, tough decision. I liked "By Hook or by Crook" by** ** _FatPatricia515_** **and "Curiosity killed the cat" by** ** _Tina_** **. I also thought of "Schemes and screams" based on your entry,** ** _Laure Saint-Yves,_** **and "Action and reaction" thanks to** ** _beaty_** **. I decided to go with your suggestion,** ** _beaty_** **.**

* * *

 **Chapter 43 The experiment**

Louisa arrived in the study shortly after Georgie. Caroline, now sobbing hysterically, was escorted from the room by both ladies.

"He has fangs like a wolf!" sobbed Caroline, finding her voice as soon as she was lowered to a sofa in the sitting room.

Georgie frowned at this but went off to search for the bottle of laudanum in the drinks cabinet, leaving Louisa to comfort her sister. Miss Darcy strained every faculty to hear the subsequent whispered conversation between the sisters.

"Hush, Caroline," soothed Louisa. "You are overwrought. Consider what you are saying. What possessed you to go in there and disturb him?"

"He snarled at me!"

"He is a man, Caroline. Hurst does not like for me to even talk to him before breakfast!"

"This has nothing to do with breakfast, Louisa!" hissed Caroline. "He was quite fierce! With pointy teeth! It is not normal!"

Louisa rolled her eyes and adopted a condescending tone she had not employed towards her little sister for many years. In marriage, Louisa still had the advantage. "Mr Darcy is of Norman stock, Caroline. I expect they are quite ferocious in battle and... elsewhere," concluded Louisa wistfully, briefly dwelling on Hurst's lacklustre performance—she had been courted for a whole two months by a much more interesting young cavalier of Norman stock before he had found a better match elsewhere. "How else could they have defeated the English at the Battle of Hasty and won the Magna Carta*?"

"The Magna Carta had nothing to do with the Battle of Hastings*, Louisa!" seethed Caroline. "It was over 100 years later!"

Having poured a glass of Madeira* for Caroline, Georgie shook a few drops of laudanum* into it and then, on second thoughts, added a few more.

* * *

Back in the study, Mrs Reynolds was all apologies.

"I'm terribly sorry, sir. I just went back for the tray, which I had put down to unlock the door, when Miss Bingley brushed past me. I had my hands full and could not stop her."

"Think nothing of it, Mrs Reynolds," reassured Darcy. "I just hope I did not frighten her too much. I was having a bad dream when she woke me."

"I'll go and see to her now, sir. And I hope I did not do wrong by bringing the tea. Miss Georgie said you were studying some books with Miss Elizabeth, which was why I brought two cups."

"I was overcome by a headache, Mrs Reynolds. Miss Elizabeth is here," he said, turning to the window.

In response, Elizabeth drew the curtain aside to reveal herself sitting on the wide ledge.

"Heavens above, Miss! How did you get up there? Shall I have the library steps wheeled in so that you can get down?"

"I think we can manage, Mrs Reynolds," said Darcy.

"Very well, sir," said Mrs Reynolds, performing a neat bob. She left, locking the hall door behind her.

"Do you intend to keep me a prisoner up here with this book until I find the solution?" joked Elizabeth.

"Jump and I will catch you," replied Darcy.

Elizabeth was a little dubious about this mode of descent, especially since Charlotte's last letter had mentioned a horrible accident that had occurred recently at Lyme Regis. But screwing her courage to the sticking place, Lizzy passed down the book and then leapt into the void between the desk and the bookcase. Heart pattering, she found herself in Darcy's arms.

"Would you like some tea?" she asked as Darcy lowered her feet to the floor.

"Yes, please," replied Darcy soberly.

"Did Caroline get a fright when you grabbed her arm?" asked Lizzy as she poured.

"I bared my fangs at her," admitted Darcy.

"No!" said Lizzy, almost dropping the pot.

"Yes," affirmed Darcy with more calm than Lizzy felt he should have any right to feeling at that moment.

"What do you think she will do?"

"Hopefully go away," said Darcy.

"Do you think you could mesmerise her?" asked Lizzy.

"Frankly, no. She is a very determined lady, and the last thing I want is to be caught alone with her; she would have me up the aisle in a trice."

Lizzy considered this. "We are alone now," she pointed out.

"I wish we could be so forever," said Darcy, taking her hand as she put down the teapot. "What I want and what I know I rightfully should do have never been so divergent. That is the source of my headache. I want so desperately for you to stay but I fear for your safety. I cannot bear that you are departing so soon."

"I would also like to stay longer, Fitzwilliam. Perhaps my aunt could be prevailed upon to stay and chaperone us, at least until my father's reply. My uncle might be willing to ride back to London, though I do not like to ask him to do it. It must be an arduous journey on horseback."

"When I say stay, I mean marriage, Elizabeth. You know that is what the selfish me wants. I was dreaming of riding to Lincoln to obtain a Special License from my uncle the bishop when Caroline woke me. I would do it in a heartbeat if I felt I could trust myself around you, but my love for you is too strong. It frightens me."

"I trust you, Fitzwilliam, and I want to stay with you. Surely you already demonstrated great self-control with your actions when I pricked myself yesterday?"

"Lizzy," groaned Darcy, "you are so young and innocent." He took both her hands and lowered his voice to a whisper. "The conjugal act involves a certain loss of control and I am afraid I will not be master of myself in those moments."

"Oh," said Lizzy, wanting to help but feeling her ignorance. "Perhaps, we could kiss a little more, like yesterday, to test ourselves?"

Darcy sighed. "I could feel myself losing control yesterday. That was why I requested you to stop."

"Oh, I thought you were worried about taking my maidenhood. I am willing to help if you wish to test your fortitude. But I cannot give you my maidenhood. I do not want to end up like Lydia."

"Ah!" said Darcy. "I did not wish to pry. Is she with child?"

"Yes, and we dare not even bring the doctor to her."

"Does your father wish to take up my offer to bring her north?"

"Mama cannot bear to have her leave. She is afraid she will never see Lydia again. She hopes to pass the child off as her own."

"Ah!" said Darcy, releasing Lizzy's hands. He sat down again and began to sip his tea in a brown study.

Lizzy took up her teacup and began to sip at it thoughtfully. "Would it be possible...?" suggested Lizzy and then stopped, too embarrassed to go on.

"Yes?" asked Darcy hopefully.

"Would it be possible to use the manacles? If you were restrained, it would not matter if you lost control, would it?"

Darcy looked at her beseechingly. "That might work. It need not involve loss of your maidenhood and it might allow me to test my limits." He paused, then shook his head. "I cannot ask it of you. It seems wrong."

"From a practical point of view," suggested Lizzy, "surely it is worth trying?"

Darcy bit his lip, wracked between his sense of propriety and his hopes and wishes.

"I trust you, Fitzwilliam," added Lizzy, squeezing his hand.

Her touch was more than Darcy could resist. "If we do this, it must be done in secret. No one must ever know we have been together. Then, if our experiment fails and we must part, your reputation will be unsullied. If that were the case, would you be willing to put it to the test?"

"Yes, Fitzwilliam, I would."

Taking her hand again and holding it to his lips, Darcy kissed it.

* * *

Having made their plans, Darcy unlocked the door to the library and finding it empty, set up Lizzy at a desk so that she could make her notes on the volume she had been reading. After being caught alone together by his housekeeper, he thought it best that Elizabeth should be at least be engaged in innocent diversion when her relatives sought her out. He then returned to the dark study to nurse his headache.

Dinner was a grand affair. Mrs Reynolds had gone to special trouble, knowing it might be the Gardiners' last evening at Pemberley. Miss Bingley did not come down. Louisa had given her sister more laudanum to calm her and Caroline had fallen asleep. Bingley had been severely embarrassed when he learned of the afternoon's disturbance upon coming in for afternoon tea. Only Darcy's headache had precluded Bingley following his first instinct, to seek his friend out to apologise profusely. As Bingley dressed for dinner, his fortitude wavered and by the time he came down, Charles had determined that discretion was the better part of valour.*

Neither Darcy or Lizzy ate much. They occasionally glanced at each other when they thought no one was watching. After discussing his plans with Finn, Darcy was still worried he was letting his desire for Elizabeth cloud his thinking. Lizzy felt a little nervous but excited. Their nervous energy resulted in Darcy not saying much at all and Lizzy being a little louder than usual. Darcy even began to worry that Lizzy might be drinking a little more wine than she usually partook of during meals. Fortunately, no one else at the table seemed to notice.

After the ladies withdrew, the gentlemen did not dwell long over their wine before joining them. Georgie entertained them with several sonatas but when Darcy got up to retire early on the grounds of his headache, no one objected to the dispersal of the party. If the Gardiners and their nieces were to depart tomorrow, both Bingley and Georgie appreciated the travellers would have a long day ahead of them.

Upstairs, Darcy immediately changed into his black clothes and headed out the window, intending to meet Elizabeth at midnight, fully sated.

When he arrived in her bedchamber as the long clock at the end of the hall struck the twelfth hour, Darcy found Lizzy reading a book. She was beneath the bedclothes wearing a wrapper, her hair in the plait he had seen at the window at Hunsford so many times. He felt instantly aroused but took several deep breaths to calm his inner beast.

"Are you sure you still want to go through with this?" he asked.

"Yes," said Lizzy stolidly, setting her book aside. She felt nervous but resolute. "I'm sure."

Slipping from between the covers, Elizabeth snuffed the candle and came to stand beside Darcy near the window. He wrapped his arms around her and they kissed briefly before Darcy resolutely tore himself away. He then climbed out again and turned to allow her to climb onto his back. Carefully, Darcy climbed down to his own bedchamber and paused outside to allow Lizzy to step onto the sill. Finn was waiting with a footstool to help her climb in through the window.

"Good morning, ma'am," Finn said as he offered his gloved hand.

Unable to find her voice, Lizzy gave a nervous smile and nodded as she was helped inside.

After Darcy sprang through the window after her, Lizzy watched as Finn helped his master remove his boots, stockings and tailcoat. She had never seen a man undress before and found it quite fascinating, completely aside from the astonishing number of well fitted layers that cleaved to him like a glove. As more of his skin was revealed, Lizzy realised she was holding her breath; she next found herself panting, feeling strangely excited—his bare feet and calves were so shapely. Darcy removed a watch and chain, then undid his waistcoat. Finn untied Darcy's cravat then stepped around him to loosen his breeches at the back. When Darcy removed a ring and placed it beside the watch on a tray, Elizabeth briefly wondered if she should look elsewhere. Darcy turned his back on her momentarily to stuff something down the front of his breeches. He then moved towards the bed, still wearing his black silk shirt and breeches, and lay down. Finn approached and fastened the manacles on Darcy's feet and hands. Darcy's valet then stepped away from the bed without looking at Elizabeth.

"Ring the bell if there is anything else you need, sir," Finn said as he turned and closed the door.

Elizabeth felt rather weak at the knees as she approached the bed, recalling her experience at the Assembly when she had first met Darcy. She climbed tentatively onto the edge of the mattress.

"Note well, the freedom of movement I have," Darcy said, lifting his chest and twisting his arms in the chains. "I've had Finn tighten the chains on my legs, so there is very little I can do there, but I can lunge forward a little with my upper body. So if I say 'not safe' you must keep well away from my head, understand?"

"Yes," said Lizzy, noting the limits of his movements and hoping for further instruction.

"You are safest on top of me," continued Darcy. "Then I cannot use my weight against you. If I do manage to break free, which I have never done before, run directly to Finn. He is keeping his singlestick by him and will be ready to defend you. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she said, sliding towards him on her knees.

"Straddle me, like a horse," urged Darcy.

Reminding herself to have courage, Lizzy climbed astride his belly. He groaned as her nightgown rode up her thighs, immediately wanting to touch the silken skin revealed there.

Look down at him, she saw in his eyes a glitter she had not seen there before and knew it for desire, "May I kiss you?" she asked leaning forward.

"Please," begged Darcy, already feeling quite delirious from the delicious weight of her. "But remember to pull back if I say 'not safe'."

Lizzy puckered her lips and lowered her head tentatively towards him, pinning his shoulders down with her hands. His lips were moist and warm, his breath tickling her as they touched. They fell into a kiss.

"Yes," breathed Darcy, moving underneath her as Lizzy's fingers curled round his shoulders and possessed him.

Lizzy brought her hand up to caress his cheek, sliding her index finger into his sideburn.

"Ah!" said Darcy, twisting his chest in a vain effort to get closer to her.

They kissed for some moments more. When Lizzy slid her fingertips into his hair, Darcy plunged his tongue into her mouth. Instinctively Lizzy began to move her hips against his torso. She immediately understood why ladies were not encouraged to ride astride. She found the movement extremely exhilarating and pressed herself closer to him.

Darcy extracted his tongue long enough to say, "Slide down" before plunging into her mouth once more.

"What?" gasped Elizabeth, feeling a little dizzy.

"Slide down to my hips," managed Darcy.

Lizzy did so and knew exactly when to stop. She engaged with a hot, hard part of him that seemed to fit her body exactly.

"Errrh!" groaned Darcy and his hips seem to buck underneath her as she moved.

Lizzy pushed herself away from his lips. Behind his heavy lids, his eyes seemed to be rolling back in his head. "Keep going?" she asked, not knowing if his darker nature was gaining the upper hand.

"Yes, more!" he pleaded.

The bed creaked as they settled down into a frenetic good rhythm until Lizzy was quite breathless. She was about to admit to exhaustion when Darcy shuddered underneath her and let out such a loud inarticulate exclamation that Lizzy would not have been surprised if Finn had bounded through the door. Thankfully he did not. She collapsed onto one elbow.

"Are you all right?" she gasped.

Darcy's eyes remained closed but a smile lit up his face. "I am more than all right," he said in a voice that was almost a purr.

"Thank God for that," said Lizzy, collapsing fully onto his chest to hear the resounding thud of his heartbeat in her ears. It sounded as if he had been working as hard as she had, flat out on his back. Conjugal relations were certainly a strange thing.

Darcy sighed when Lizzy clasped his shoulders once more. He only wished he could hold her in return.

"Well," said Darcy, overcome with tenderness for her. "If you are willing to accept my limitations, I believe we can make this work."

"Your limitations?" repeated Lizzy.

"The chains," said Darcy. "At least until we are sure of ourselves."

"Of course," said Lizzy. "You are the one made uncomfortable."

"Then will you stay with me forever, Elizabeth?" Darcy asked her, joy welling up within his heart.

"Forever, Fitzwilliam," Lizzy averred.

They lay together for a while in exhaustion and contentment. The warmth of his body and the wonderful smell of him proved too much for Lizzy, she drifted into sweet dreams. Darcy however remained alert as his world reoriented itself and he contemplated a brighter future where he was no longer alone.

As comforting as that was, eventually the inherent selfishness of his thoughts occurred to Darcy and he turned to watch Lizzy sleep, marvelling at her perfect skin. When he woke Lizzy by calling her name, she thought at first it might be near morning.

"I suppose I should take you back to your chamber so you can sleep for what is left of the night," whispered Darcy.

"I suppose that would be sensible," agreed Lizzy, not moving a muscle.

"I feel bad," he sighed.

"How so?"

"Because I enjoyed myself more than you did."

"It was strangely exhilarating," said Lizzy, feeling a little ashamed at the way she had given over to the sensations of the moment.

"Let me do something for you before you go," Darcy pleaded.

"You do not intend to take my maidenhead?" she asked in alarm, "—because there is still Father's permission to be sought. I don't want a five–month babe."

Darcy laughed. It was a beautiful chortle Lizzy had never heard before. "I promise, but you will need to release my right hand."

Lizzy found the pin on the manacle and released him.

"Put your head on the pillow beside me," he instructed, running his hand over her thigh.

Lizzy felt her heart quicken immediately at his caress. She lay her head down as he bid her and then sighed as he moved his hand to caress her inner thigh.

"Roll onto your back," he breathed. "Your skin is so soft—even softer than silk. I do not believe I have ever touched a surface so heavenly."

Lizzy might ordinarily have smiled at his hyperbole but she was too entranced by the delicious feelings invoked by his hand. She gasped when he moved it higher.

"Good?" he asked as wave after wave of sensation dispersed through her body in giddy roils. It felt as if she were tumbling down a hill.

"Yes," she breathed, feeling the sensation mounting within her. "What...?" But she could go no further. His lips descended and his hand continued until a sensation welled up in her that felt almost like a silent scream. "Ah!" she said as something leapt inside her belly and seemed to flounder there like a landed fish. "Ahhhhh!"

Darcy waited until her eyes fluttered open again.

"If that is what conjugal relations are like," sighed Lizzy, "now I understand why everyone is so keen to be married."

Darcy kissed her again. "That is but a taste."

He captured her hand and drew it to his lips, surreptitiously licking his fingers in the process. "And so to bed, my dear. I will write to my uncle tonight to request the Special License. If your uncle is willing to let you be wed without your father's permission, we can be married as soon as tomorrow evening. If not, I will follow you to Longbourn as soon as it is dark to plead my case."

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*Magna Carta—the Magna Carta is a charter agreed to by King John of England at Runnymede, near Windsor, on 15 June 1215, which limited the right of King to exert taxes on the Church and his feudal barons.

*Battle of Hastings—in the Battle of Hastings, fought in 1066, the Norman-French army of William, the Duke of Normandy, decisively defeated an English army under the Anglo-Saxon King Harold Godwinson, beginning the Norman conquest of England.

*laudanum—Laudanum is a "whole opium" preparation that historically contained all the opium alkaloids, including morphine (typically 1%) and codeine. It had a bitter taste. It was used as a painkiller and cough suppressant. It could be bought over the counter without regulation until the early 20th century.

*Madeira—A fortified wine from the island of Madeira that was extremely popular in the 18th century. Madeira was a port on the East Indies route, the wine was initially fortified with alcohol from cane sugar to prevent it spoiling at sea but later with brandy as production evolved. The wine also aged at sea in the heat of the hold. 'Pipes' (casks) of Madeira that had made the round trip to the East Indies were found to taste better and the vintners discovered ways to simulate the process on land.


	44. The cat is out of the bag

**Thanks to _beaty_ for corrections.**

 **Suggestions for the title of Chapter 43 were:**

 **"The End Justifies the Means" by _nanciellen_ ,**

 **"Temptation" by _nessy22_ ,**

 **"A test for a taste" by _Laure Saint-Yves,_**

 **"Kisses and Restraints" by _Deanna27_ ,**

 **"On the Bridle Path" by _Missouri Walker,_**

 **"Riding Astride", "Like riding a horse" or "Forevermore" by _Chica de Los Ojas Cafe,_**

 **"Marital preparations" or "Marital rehearsals" by _Brytte Mystere,_**

 **"Conjugal Limitations" by _FatPatricia515_ ,**

 **"Just a taste" by _Windchimed_ ,**

 **"Trust and Control" by _beaty_ ,**

 **"Shackled by love" by _Dizzy Lizzy 60,_**

 **"The bonds of love" is an obvious title, but also "leaping to love" or "Finn-angled" by _Anglocelt_ , **

**"Unrestrained feelings" by _guest_ ,**

 **"Stay (with me)" "Unable to stay unwilling to leave" or "the love experiment" by _Tina_ ,**

 **"Love Test", "Testing the Bonds of Love", "Bonds of Love"**

 **"Chained Love Melody", "Forever bond by love", "Forever Bond", "Conjugal Tasting" by _Sacredwoman2K_**

 **Wow, so many good ones. I thought of "Between a rock and a hard place?" (only kidding) and "Exercising restraint"? I really like "Bonds of Love" by _Sacredwoman2K_ , and "Finn-angled" by Anglocelt was brilliant! I decided to go with "The experiment" based on _Tina's_ suggestion.**

 **Remember, if you want to actually win a prize, you need to be logged in so I can PM you.**

* * *

 **Chapter 44**

Although it stretched every nerve, Darcy woke after only a short nap before sunrise to ensure that he spoke to Mr Gardiner before he departed.

After delivering Elizabeth to her bedchamber following their encounter, Darcy had spent what remained of the night writing: to his uncles Fitzwilliam—the bishop and the earl; the first, to request the Special Licence and the latter, as the head of their extended family, to apprise him of events. Darcy also wrote to his sister, who he wished to apprise as soon as she woke so that she might not hear the information second-hand; to the count, he wrote for last minute advice; and finally, he wrote to himself.

Since his first investigation of the blood types with the count, conducted by correspondence, Darcy had kept a journal of his findings and musings. But after his initial excitement over the factitious airs early in the New Year, his annotations in it had dwindled as his hope that he had found something truly important with regard to his condition faded. Darcy was not able to write of any new advance that night, but he effectively summarised various blind alleys he had explored over the last few months, so that he might remember them and then ruled a neat line underneath. Tomorrow was a new beginning. He would no longer be alone.

Finally he stole along the corridor to slip his note to Georgiana under her bedchamber door and tried to settle down to sleep as dawn approached, still buzzing with the energy his change of circumstances had given him.

Fletcher was able to convey Darcy's note requesting an audience to Mr Gardiner as soon as he emerged from his chamber. Mr Gardiner indicated his willingness to meet in Mr Darcy's study immediately and cast a speculative glance at his wife before leaving. In the lee of the door, Mrs Gardiner unbent from her task of packing the last of their belongings in their trunk and clasped her hand to her heart.

The interview was everything Mr Gardiner could have wished. He was overjoyed that his stratagems had borne fruit and congratulated Darcy heartily on marrying the most worthy of his nieces. Nor did the speed of the conclusion stun Edward—he knew it had been a long time coming and welcomed the decisive outcome. How handy to have an uncle who was s bishop.

Of course, Mr Gardiner agreed then and there to stay an extra day so that he might give Lizzy away at the wedding. What was a delay of one day in the distribution of the cargo of one ship when one's niece was marrying into the Ton? The lack of his brother-in-law's consent did not bother Edward overmuch. He had sought it for form's sake in the matter of Jane but it seemed immaterial in the case of Elizabeth, coinciding so well with his own wishes. Besides she was of age, How could Mr Bennet possibly object? Edward knew his sister would be over the moon!—though she would probably complain loudly about missing the wedding. She would just have to be content with showing off Mr Bingley at Longbourn during Jane's nuptials!

Edward hurried back to his bedchamber to apprise his wife, who immediately sought out Elizabeth for her reaction, wanting to get the details of Darcy's proposal. She found both her nieces in Elizabeth's bedchamber where Jane was doing Lizzy's hair while a maid looked on, occasionally passing brushes and pins.

"Lizzy, you sly thing!" exclaimed Mrs Gardiner on entering the room. "Did Mr Darcy ask you yesterday in the library?"

"Ah, yes," said Lizzy vaguely.

"Ask what?" enquired Jane.

"Lizzy is to marry Mr Darcy, Jane," Mrs Gardiner announced triumphantly.

Jane's mouth dropped open, but in view of the maid in the room, she tried her best to gag her astonishment. "Lizzy, congratulations!"

"Come now, Lizzy," prompted Mrs Gardiner. "Tell us exactly how it happened."

Elizabeth had been dreading this and despite her best preparations could not avoid a deep blush as last night's torrid encounter welled up in her mind.

"Well," she prevaricated. "He asked me yesterday over tea."

Watching both of her nieces like a cat, Mrs Gardiner noted Lizzy's embarrassment and Jane's astonishment and correctly concluded that Jane was in ignorance of Mr Darcy's first proposal, although she mistakenly ascribed Lizzy's blush to her lack of sisterly candour.

Jane silently pushed the last of the pins into Lizzy's hair and dismissed the maid. Only when the servant had departed did she finally give vent to her feelings.

"Lizzy! How has this occurred? I thought you did not like Mr Darcy! Indeed, I thought you were quite cruel to him at Rosings, when he had rescued you so gallantly and was so solicitous on your behalf?"

Lizzy, well aware that her aunt and uncle knew of Darcy's first proposal, was now forced to confess it openly. Jane was flabbergasted.

"He proposed to you at Rosings before the fire?" Jane declared incredulously. "How could you even contemplate refusing him?"

"It seemed fairly easy at the time," replied Lizzy drily, recalling Darcy's rather gothic proposal.

She then adopted a more proper frame of mind to explain herself. "You know how I had mistaken notions of him at Longbourn because of his lack of civility."

"But after he rescued you and everything!" protested Jane. "How could you not reconsider?"

"Call me stubborn and inflexible," replied Lizzy meekly. "I was not about to give up my cherished notions easily."

Jane had to be satisfied with this show of contrition. After hugging and congratulating her sister again, they all went down to breakfast where both Bingley and Darcy were waiting for them with Mr Gardiner.

"Miss Elizabeth!" cried Bingley, jumping up on their entering the room. "Let me be the first outside the family to congratulate you! I was so chuffed to make Darcy's acquaintance in Pest and now we are to be brothers!"

Elizabeth threw a wicked glance at Darcy—little did Bingley know he was about to gain a vampire as a brother-in-law.

Mrs Reynolds soon hurried in with the champagne she had belatedly added to the breakfast menu, her mind already swirling with preparations for the wedding. Elizabeth used the distraction to sidle up to Darcy.

"You are very impertinent," Darcy said under his breath.

"Of course," said Lizzy. "You had better cry off now if you cannot stand the teasing. So you guessed what I was thinking?"

"That Bingley knows very little of his brother-in-law."

"Indeed."

"Bingley has been a good friend. I will certainly not disdain him as a brother."

Lizzy smiled and then noticed the strained lines around Darcy's eyes behind his glasses. "You look tired. Are you getting another of your headaches?"

"I am just very sleepy. This time of the day is worst for me."

"Go and lie down. I will make your excuses. There is no need for you to be here now my uncle has agreed to stay until tomorrow."

"Thank you," said Darcy. Taking her hand, he kissed it and left.

* * *

Georgiana made her appearance at ten with her companion Mrs Annesley trailing behind. Georgie was a little annoyed to find her brother had already been up and retired again before she could congratulate him. But the prospect of gaining not one but two perfectly lovely sisters soon became paramount. After hugs for both Elizabeth and Jane, Georgie was soon fairly bouncing in her seat, bursting with plans for their entertainment. Mrs Annesley was polite but less enthused; she saw her sinecure dwindling away.

"Did brother send a message to my aunt to come for the wedding, Mrs Reynolds?" enquired Georgie, once she had got to a more practical frame of mind. "She will not appreciate being forgotten when she is only ten miles away at Matlock."

"He did say something about notifying your relatives, Miss Georgie, but not any specifics."

"Ten to one* he has forgotten my aunt is in Derbyshire and only written to my uncle in London," Georgie declared.

A pained expression crossed Mrs Annesley's face on hearing such unseemly cant issue from her charge's lips, but she very properly reserved her admonition for when she might speak to Georgie alone.

Georgie then excused herself to discover what Mrs Reynolds was planning in the kitchens for the impromptu wedding feast. How much fun it would all be when she had a sister to consult with. Nay! To bear the burden of the decision-making!

Georgie was still in high fettle when the Bingley sisters and Hurst came down at eleven. Caroline looked pale and went even more ashen on being apprised of the engagement. Miss Bingley was certainly in two minds with regard to Darcy after her frightening encounter with him yesterday—the impecunious and slightly jaded Viscount Waltham was starting to look a whole lot better. But one does not forget one's enemies so easily and she could not bear the fact that Miss Elizabeth had snared Darcy. It was a thoroughly dog in the manger* attitude, but one which would not have entirely surprised either of her siblings had she voiced her outrage.

To her credit, Caroline held her tongue, but despite her fortitude, things took a sudden turn for the worse when the head footman arrived with not one but two letters for Mr Gardiner.

"Ah! I believe your father has written, Jane," said Mr Gardiner scooping up both letters and reaching for his purse.

The footman politely refused Mr Gardiner's money, declaring that no guest at Pemberley had ever paid to receive their mail.

Thoroughly gratified that his brother-in-law had at last been persuaded to answer correspondence in a timely fashion, Mr Gardiner broke the wax seal and after scanning the short missive, burst out laughing. "He wishes you every happiness, Jane. Your mother is already planning a grand wedding and the Banns will be read from this Sunday."

Jane and Bingley exchanged smiles and speaking glances before Mr Gardiner continued:

"He concludes," said Mr Gardiner significantly, pausing for effect,

"Please find someone for Lizzy while you are at it, Brother, for she is only one year younger and sure to be my next trial once Mrs Bennet has got Jane safely installed at Netherfield."

Mrs Gardiner laughed. "Well, we will certainly punish him for his teasing when we arrive at Longbourn without Lizzy and declare innocently that we did just as we were instructed!"

The merry portion of the table all had a good laugh at that.

"I wonder what this can be about?" mused Mr Gardiner, picking up the second missive. "It looks like it is from Jem Cardle but I cannot think why he has sent a another letter. I do hope there has not been some disaster."

Louisa looked uneasily at Caroline who was staring fixedly at the tablecloth.

"I don't understand," said Mr Gardiner in perplexity after reading his message. "He says:

Please forgive me for causing you the expense of a second note, but a trader from Bristol called in today and offered a very good price for all the silk we had in the warehouse, three times what we would sell it for on the high street. He has a special order and two of his ships went down in last month's gale. He paid in gold 'on the nails'*, as they say in Bristol, and I banked it straight away.

With regard to the Bellona, I also have more definite news. She is still two weeks away, as the ship's doctor took ill and the captain thought it best not to leave him behind in Madeira. Nonetheless, he told the captain of the Jenny Green that he would put off no later than the 15th, doctor or no. So please enjoy what is left of your holiday and see you in two weeks!

How very strange," murmured Mr Gardiner. "When he wrote yesterday that the Bellona had already docked."

Mrs Gardiner was a little perplexed too. "I thought the writing was a little strange on yesterday's note. Do you have it there? The hand was not quite the same, a little heavier, as if it had been written slowly..."

"No, I left it upstairs," said Mr Gardiner. "But I think your idea has merit. This is definitely his sister's writing whereas I don't think yesterday's was. His mother must have written it. She is a little deaf, you know. What a lucky chance we did not go racing off this morning, which we would have done had it not been for other circumstances! Well, now we can be easy!"

As Mr Gardiner had satisfied himself with this convenient explanation, Caroline's gambit might have gone undiscovered, at least temporarily. Unfortunately for Miss Bingley, Charles had happened to glance at Louisa as Mr Gardiner was reading his letter. He saw her mouth drop open and her uneasy glance at her sister. Caroline did not betray herself in such an open way, but her stiffness spoke volumes. Charles then remembered that Caroline and Louisa had conveyed yesterday's letter from Lambton on Mr Gardiner's behalf.

The breakfast table broke up. Caroline declared herself invalidish and got up to withdraw to her bedchamber, thinking desperately of a means of delaying Elizabeth's nuptials, even if she had to burn down Pemberley to do it. Louisa was prevented from following her sister immediately by her husband who did not like her to leave the table until he finished his repast.

Georgie jumped up and declared to the Bennet sisters that they must consider Elizabeth's wedding gown. With resignation, Mrs Annesley got up too. Mr and Mrs Gardiner also went upstairs to extract their best garments from their trunk so that they too might look their best for the ceremony.

Bingley found himself conveniently alone with the Hursts.

"What was that all about, Louisa?" he enquired.

"What do you mean, Brother?" she deflected in her most bewildered voice.

"I doubt whether Mr Gardiner's correspondent of yesterday is hard of hearing, or suffering from confusion either. Caroline substituted that letter yesterday, didn't she?—in a vain attempt to interfere with my marriage."

"I..." started Louisa, considering her best course of action.

But Bingley was not about to be fed more pap. "It came to my attention during the course of the previous day that Jane corresponded with you after our departure from Netherfield, even visited Hurst's townhouse when she was in London, only to be rebuffed. Why wasn't I told?"

"Has she been maligning us?" asked Louisa defensively.

"'She' is the cat's mother, Louisa. Jane was charity itself in describing her trials. Yet, there they were, when you had proclaimed your friendship to her at Netherfield and imposed on Mrs Bennet's hospitality."

"We were very busy, Brother," Louisa said lamely. "It must have slipped our minds."

Hurst snorted before stuffing more ham and mushrooms into his mouth. "Up to your old tricks again, Louisa?" he said as he chewed.

"That's it, Louisa!" declared Charles. "I'm tired of your interference. Caroline's behaviour yesterday, sneaking into Darcy's study when he was trying to rest, was unconscionable. Hurst wasn't keen on the side-trip to Pemberley and I'm sorry to have inconvenienced him. I should have taken you all to Yorkshire first. Pack your bags! I will hire two outriders for your safety and you can be off by mid–afternoon without me."

Hurst protested that he was quite reconciled to their original plan if there was to be more champagne to be had but Bingley wouldn't hear if it.

"You are all invited to my wedding in Hertfordshire in one month's time," declared Bingley. "Provided you and Caroline can be trusted to behave yourself, Louisa," he added. "As for now, I trust you, as the eldest, to ensure Caroline is in that coach this afternoon—no excuses. If it requires more laudanum to subdue her, so be it."

Bingley then left to make arrangements for the journey.

Louisa, having never encountered her brother in so determined a frame of mind, looked at her husband in amazement. He raised his eyebrows and then reached for the second bottle of champagne which was still half full.

"Here," he said, generously topping up Caroline's largely untouched glass before refilling his own. "Why don't you take that up to your sister? And mind you put that laudanum in it before you hand it over."

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*Ten to one—betting cant for fairly likely

*dog in the manger—late 16th century: alluding to the fable of the dog that lay in a manger to prevent the ox and horse from eating the hay.

*on the nails'*—may refer to the bronze nails in Bristol where deals were done but is likely an older European saying, referring to the nails of the hand, like 'cash in hand'.

*'She' is the cat's mother—a rebuke especially directed towards children for having referred to a woman as "she", instead of using her name or an appropriately respectful title. A female cat is a 'she' whereas a male cat is a 'tom'.


	45. Leg-shackled

**Yes** , ** _alix33_** **, thanks to industrialization, the Georgian and Regency periods were a time of great upheaval as the English economy shifted from an agrarian to an industrial society. Drinking alcohol was already part of the culture but once people started crowding into cities to find work, getting clean drinking water became a serious issue. People turned to alcoholic beverages of all sorts.**

 **Serious social problems like changes in employment resulted in consumption peaking with the "Gin craze" around the 1750s. There was also lots of crime ranging from pistol-carrying highwaymen to people stealing a loaf of bread to keep from starving. The prisons were so full, they started incarcerating thieves in retired ships (hulks). Finally they starting sending them to Australia. Murderers were of course easier to deal with—they were hung.**

 **It seems a lot like what is happening today as a result of globalisation/mechanisation and the gig economy. I couldn't find any numbers but one article I read some time ago calculated alcohol consumption per capita to be way higher than the current figure of around 12l per year. That's not 12 litres of beer, it's 12 litres of pure ethyl alcohol.**

 **Georgie erred by saying "ten to one". Betting cant should not pass the lips of a lady.**

 **Suggestions for the title of Chapter 44 were:**

 **"Great Expectations" by** ** _Deanna27_** **,**

 **"The cat is out of the bag" by** ** _Laura Saint-Yves,_**

 **"Confessions" by** ** _Lee3619_** **,**

 **"Morning Musings" by** ** _beaty_** **,**

 **"All In A Days Work" by** ** _Dizzy Lizzy.60_** **,**

 **"as the world turns" or "what goes around" by** ** _anita1788_** **,**

 **"Feral Relations" by** ** _FatPatricia515_** **,**

 **I liked "what goes around" by** ** _anita1788_** **, but decided to go with "The cat is out of the bag" by Laura Saint-Yves, which works on two levels.**

 **Thanks to** ** _alix33_** **and** ** _LSY_** **for corrections and _Gedoena_ for a suggestion. Lastly thanks to ****_LSY_** **for some more etymology.**

* * *

 **Chapter 45 Leg-shackled**

Despite the champagne glass being thrown at Louisa's head, Bingley and Mrs Hurst did contrive to remove Caroline to the carriage after it had stood for only half an hour in the drive. But it had taken some fortitude.

After disposing of her sedative and an exquisite hand-blown glass of some antiquity within the privacy of her bedchamber, Caroline started raving that Lizzy Bennet would marry Fitzwilliam Darcy over her dead body. Louisa was forced to concur that a calming respite in Yorkshire might indeed be needed. After her soothing words were summarily rebuffed, Louisa retreated only to return with tea in which she again offered her sister the laudanum with plenty of sugar to disguise its bitter taste.

Meanwhile, on Charles' orders, Caroline's maid packed up her effects in the dressing room as quiet as a mouse, knowing that discovery would bring down her mistress's wrath upon her. Unfortunately attempts by Charles and Louisa to convince Caroline to leave by her own accord for dignity's sake were for nought. But for the laudanum, a real scene might have ensued.

In the end, Charles carried a prostrate Caroline down the stairs. He briefly considered letting her stay as he contemplated her delirious state. But she contrived to pinch him as he wavered in his determination to send her on her way and thus sealed her fate.

Charles waved his relatives off down the drive without much guilt, assuring Darcy later that his sisters were keen to get on to Yorkshire to visit an ailing aunt. Darcy knew better but was silently relieved at their going.

Meanwhile inside the house, all were busy in preparation for the master's wedding which, in the light of the Gardiners' reprieve, had been delayed for another day. Despite the master's understandable haste to enter the married state, it had been mutually agreed that things 'should be done properly'. For in addition to feeding the wedding guests, Mrs Reynolds had reminded Darcy that it was traditional for a second feast to be prepared for the tenants.

Accordingly a beast* was slaughtered and the meat distributed to the womenfolk of the estate so they could prepare something for their fête. A whole pig was mounted on the spit in the grand medieval fireplace that had been transferred from the old manor house, generally only used to warm the kitchens in the winter months. In the fields, the men and older children continued with the harvest, while the womenfolk lined up at the external door of Pemberley's kitchens to request the other ingredients for their dishes. The younger children ran round in great excitement, knowing something momentous was afoot and contributing to the festive air.

Upstairs, several maids had been set stitching the wedding dress, which had been hastily concocted from several things of Georgie's—for, not expecting to attend as much as a ball on her tour, Lizzy had brought nothing really fine with her.

The base of the gown was a fairy-like green confection, which Georgie had purchased and worn once before her aunt convinced her the colour did not suit her complexion. Mrs Gardiner and Jane had exclaimed their approbation as soon as the dress had been held against Lizzy's form. Nipped in and shortened, this beautiful gown would have fulfilled Elizabeth's every wish for a bridal. But Georgie would not have it—Elizabeth could not be married in a gown Fitzwilliam would recognise as one his sister had worn. Georgie had yet much to learn of men—most of them do not notice what their sisters are wearing at all, provided it is not too outlandish. Georgie insisted the gown must be altered or adorned in some way to refurbish it.

Miss Darcy had then pulled a beautiful matching gold-edged gossamer sari from a bandbox, where it had lain ever since it had been purchased and forgotten. Mrs Annesley had deemed it a heathen thing when Georgie had draped it around her shoulders for the ball of the green dress. So it had been returned to the box and replaced by a dainty French shawl. After much discussion over whether the sari should be used as a veil or cut up to make an overdress, Jane declared that Lizzy should have roses in her hair and the decision for the overdress was made by default. Mrs Gardiner and Jane laid the dress out to make the pattern while Georgie clapped her hands with delight, remarking how clever they were.

By the time everyone including Mrs Annesley had been set stitching, Georgie recalled her need to remind her brother of an invitation to her aunt at Matlock. This was handy, since Georgie had no turn for needlework. She summoned a footman to pass on her directive and was in turn informed of the Bingley sisters' intended departure. More welcome news could not have been imagined. With an appropriately sorrowful face, Georgie stood next to Bingley as he waved his relatives off, then bounded upstairs to return to the fun.

There were now only the details to be thought of—shoes, gloves and jewellery. Georgie's shoes and gloves were too big, but Mrs Gardiner looked up from her work long enough to say she had a pair of green gloves that would do admirably. That left the footwear as the chief problem. Lambton had only a humble cobbler, so what Lizzy had brought with her would have to do.

Lizzy's trunk yielded several pairs of shoes, none of which were fine enough to do justice to the beautiful gown being prepared. But as Georgie was admiring a dainty pair of plain but serviceable brown kid slippers, she was struck with a marvellous idea.

"We can have them gilded!" she gushed. "There is a bookbinder in Lambton who does all the books* for the library. "He has ever so many designs to choose from! I'm sure if we offer him enough," she continued optimistically, "he can have them ready by tomorrow!"

Lizzy was at first reluctant to cause so much trouble, but Georgie was insistent. When it was discovered that Mrs Annesley and Georgie's maid thought they could supervise the stitching of the gown well enough on their own, Georgie's landau was called for, and all four ladies set out for Lambton with Lizzy's shoes, accompanied by two footmen who had been charged with last minute purchases for the household by Mrs Reynolds.

The outing was a merry one, Lizzy allowed herself to be swept along in Georgie's organisational plans, all the time thinking that her little sister would make a grand dame. But once inside the bookbinders', Lizzy was finally able to put her stamp on the wedding attire. The designs that the bookbinder swept aside to search out something more suitable for a lady's wedding in his catalog happened to be the ones he had recently used to rebind several well-worn books of Darcy's. The bookbinder was rather proud of his drawings based on the fancifully illustrated content of the tomes. When Lizzy stayed his hand to admire one of interlocking triangles with alchemical symbols reminiscent of a zodiac, he was truly chuffed.

"That one!" said Lizzy decisively.

Mrs Gardiner peered rather dubiously at the image. "What is that round the edge—a snake and a dragon biting each other's tails? You cannot be serious, Lizzy!"

"Oh! I see!" interjected Georgie. "It is the same as on one of the books you are studying with Fitzwilliam!—your common interest!"

"Well," said Mrs Gardiner, holding the design at arm's length. "I suppose that puts a different complexion on it. What do you think, Jane?"

"It will mostly be under her dress and will look merely decorative when it does peep out," offered Jane as a concession.

It was decided. They left a very satisfied bookbinder, keen for the job. After a very lean year, when almost no commissions had come from Pemberley, he was suddenly doing very well for himself again.

After returning to Pemberley, the ladies sat down to luncheon with Darcy, Mr Gardiner and Bingley. In no time, the happy mood of those who had ventured to Lambton was transferred to the gentlemen. Bingley's twinge of regret for the rough handling of his sister, which had gnawed at him since her departure, quickly evaporated. The altogether more pleasant aspect of his current companions warmed his heart and the knowledge that he too would soon follow his friend into matrimony—yes, and be his brother!—soon completed his happiness.

After lunch, Georgie had the Darcy jewels extracted from the strongbox—such of them as were kept in the country. The best, Georgie declared, resided at the townhouse in London. Mrs Gardiners' eyes goggled at the 'second-rate' jewels; the box seemed to contain a king's ransom. Lizzy passed over the parure of emeralds that Georgie first suggested rather nervously in favour of a more modest demi-parure of peridots—all the while feeling she must be dreaming.

In the mid-afternoon, the countess arrived. Having apprised his aunt only of the revised wedding date, Darcy had not been expecting Lady Matlock until the morrow. Miss Bingley's vacating of the countess's chamber could not have been more timely.

Lady Matlock explained that she had come to help with the arrangements, but over afternoon tea, she was soon running a judicious eye over Elizabeth. She could not find fault with what she saw but was still puzzled by her nephew's choice of a squire's daughter and soon told him so when she met him by chance in a corridor.

"How can one explain attraction?" Darcy replied quite truthfully. "I singled her out from the moment I first danced with her."

Lady Matlock could see her nephew was truly smitten and conceded his fortune was such as to allow him to follow his heart. She very naughtily congratulated him on escaping marriage to Anne, who she doubted could bear him an heir.

"Besides," Cecilia Fitzwilliam laughed as she headed off to her chamber, "it has worked out very well for Richard!"

Towards evening, the inhabitants of Pemberley were surprised when another unexpected carriage arrived. It was an unfamiliar dark coach, reminiscent of Darcy's, but heavier and more old fashioned, from its springs to its ornate styling. They were all astonished when a man in ecclesiastical garments stepped out of it as the low sun cast the house's shadow over the drive.

"Uncle!" said Darcy, starting forward, a little worried that an objection was about to be raised against his marriage. "Is there a problem?"

The cleric removed a paper from his vestments and held it out. "I believe you asked for this?"

Darcy smiled as he unfolded the Special Licence.

"Thank you. But I did not wish to disturb you from your duties."

"Not at all. Since I was in the vicinity, I thought I might as well attend the wedding of one of my nephews. As you are the last to be married, it was my final chance to promote the married state. I may even perform the ceremony myself, if your parson does not feel I will be treading on his toes. I will consult with him immediately. My memory fails me. The parsonage is behind the house that way, is it not?" said the bishop, pointing to the west.

"Half a mile," said Darcy. "Are you sure you would not prefer to use your carriage?"

"Heavens, no! I've been sitting in that thing for nearly seven hours!"

"Come, take some refreshment inside and I will walk down with you to the parsonage afterwards," offered Darcy, knowing he should accompany his uncle but wishing to delay on account of the sun.

* * *

The day of the wedding dawned, bright and sunny. From an early hour the men could be heard calling to each other across the fields, eager to get the hay cut and piled so that they might retire early to the festivities. The ceremony had been fixed for the late afternoon; timed exactly, in fact, so that Darcy could walk from the church with his bride in the twilight. Such were the joys of the Special Licence.* Darcy knew that all the tenants would want to be there to pelt them with barley and receive the largesse he would distribute in return.

Jane had gone down after breakfast with Bingley to gather white roses for Lizzy's bouquet and wreath. On Lizzy's behest, she had even cut one red rose to put into the centre of the bouquet. It had at first seemed a strange request, not matching the rest of the bride's attire. But when Lizzy had finally revealed the red rose in her water jug, now fading, all had been explained. Holding the bouquet against the dress, Mrs Gardiner thought the one red rose worked rather well to draw interest to the ensemble. She even carefully peeled all the thorns from the stems at Lizzy's request.

The final effect looked truly lovely. When Darcy saw Lizzy proceeding towards him on Mr Gardiner's arm in her green gown, wreathed in roses, he was overcome with emotion. She looked so fresh and vernal, the personification of spring. His lips pressed together. A blood tear welled in his eye.

"What is the matter?" whispered Lizzy as she reached him.

"You look so young and beautiful. I do not deserve you," he croaked, avoiding her gaze and dabbing at his eye with his black silk handkerchief.

Lizzy understood that his qualms were not those of an ordinary man.

At that moment, the bishop stepped forward and it wasn't possible to reassure him properly, so Lizzy merely squeezed Darcy's hand and tilted her head towards him.

"You haven't seen the shoes," she confided with a smirk, bringing one toe forward.

* * *

While Lizzy's little alchemical joke set him more at ease, reminding him that he was marrying a lady of considerable resource and fortitude, Darcy still struggled internally throughout the ceremony. Although he regularly attended the Sunday evening services Pemberley's parson had obligingly begun in order to accommodate the master's malady, Darcy still felt like an imposter before God in asking Him to consecrate such a marriage. Nonetheless, for Lizzy's sake, he tried to hide these doubts. They both repeated their responses without error and he slid the ruby ring they had chosen together from the Darcy hoard onto Lizzy's finger.

When they stepped from the church, a cheer that rang out from the tenants brought a sickening wave of the same feeling of the imposter over Darcy again. Not all Richard's sophistry could excuse the fact that Pemberley had a most unnatural master.

Then the barley hit them and Darcy instinctively picked Lizzy up to shield her from the deluge. He scooped a handful of golden guineas from the bag Finn was holding out and tossed them into the crowd after Lizzy's bouquet. Finn and Fletcher distributed the rest.

Darcy carried Lizzy all the way back to the house, trailed by the rest of the wedding party, mostly on foot. The countess brought up the rear in her coach carrying also her brother-in-law who, at sixty, was glad of the respite today.

Behind them, the tenants continued their rowdy celebration, buoyed by the largesse that had been distributed. If the tenants had noticed the master was a little grim after the ceremony, they ascribed it merely to his nature. All who had been acquainted with him from his childhood knew him to have been a most serious boy. In his affection for the new mistress they had no doubt by the way he had shielded her and carried her all the way back to the manor house.

The feast for the wedding party was conducted on the terrace, lit by flambeaux. Not far off, on the sward,* trestle tables had been set up around an improvised dance floor for the tenants. After the soup had been consumed at the high table, Darcy and Lizzy got up to do their duty in opening the dance. Strangely, they realised it was only their second set together.

To Lizzy's surprise, she found Fitzwilliam Darcy a most estimable partner in the reel—not a dance she had ever imagined him doing. His feet flashed back and forward as quickly as any of the youths in the set. He jumped as high. Recalling the feats he had performed in rescuing her from the burning parsonage, Lizzy thought she should not have been surprised by his easy athleticism. He was an altogether different creature from the mysterious man who shrank into the shadows by day. At night he seemed to come alive.

To great applause, the couple retired back to the terrace to let the tenants have their fun. Darcy waited patiently while the wedding party partook of the rest of the feast. As the coffee was put on the table, he gave Lizzy's hand a squeeze and by mutual agreement they stood to bid the wedding party good night. Mr Gardiner stood also to toast them once more, his speech momentarily interrupted by a catcall* from an inebriated tenant who wished the newlyweds a jolly good time. The man was hastily pulled down to his seat again by his wife.

In a snatched moment during the busy day, Lizzy and Darcy had made their plans for their wedding night. They first entered the master and mistress's shared sitting room, which was the room above the library where Darcy had set up the chemical apparatus to produce the factitious airs. It was empty, but several branches of candles burned in anticipation of their arrival. After securing the door, Darcy clasped his wife in a careful but fierce embrace. He heaved a great sigh, hardly able to believe his dearest wishes had come true against insuperable odds.

"Are you sure you want to consummate the marriage tonight?" he asked, drawing back to look into Lizzy's face. "There is no rush."

"Yes, you know we will need to be separated from as early as tomorrow, at least until we are sure of your strength of will, and I would prefer to have my aunt nearby, should I have any questions. Besides, if I wait my courage may fail me..."

Darcy's face fell ludicrously and Lizzy stopped to consider her words more carefully. Absentmindedly she toyed with the cabochon ruby pin in Darcy's cravat, which they had chosen to match her wedding ring. The two stones glinted together in the candlelight.

"My fears are only stupid maidenly ones," she said, peeping up into his eyes to gauge his reaction. "We should proceed whilst the pleasure you brought me on the night before last is fresh in my mind."

Reassured, a smile formed on Darcy's lips and he kissed her forehead. "Come, sit down," said Darcy. "Let us have a drink before I go out."

He led Lizzy to the blue silk brocade sofa. On a table nearby, Finn had left a bottle of champagne on ice and a plate of sweetmeats. Of his valet there was no sign but Darcy knew Finn was waiting next door in Darcy's chambers to help him into his black clothes.

"Would you like some champagne?" Darcy asked, picking up the bottle.

"I'm not sure I could drink another drop," replied Lizzy, kicking off her shoes and curling her stockinged feet under her on the sofa. "It goes to my head. But pour some for yourself. These sweetmeats look nice but I fancy they would taste better with coffee. No matter, I will not bother the kitchens now but take them with water."

"I expect Finn is ahead of you there," said Darcy, walking towards the chemical apparatus and retrieving a coffee pot from a burner. "Indeed," he said, sniffing the brew. "Freshly made. Will you take a cup?"

"Thank you!" replied Lizzy.

Darcy set out two cups, poured coffee into one and then hesitated. "Would you mind if I quenched my thirst before I go out?" he asked, gesturing towards the port bottles beside him.

"Of course not," replied Lizzy. "You must do what is necessary to manage yourself."

Darcy nodded thankfully and filled a glass from a port bottle. He downed it quickly in the corner before filling it again and casting a sidelong glance at Lizzy who was attempting to remove the wreath of roses from her hair.

"Let me help you," he said, returning to the sofa and setting down her coffee cup and his glass to extract a pin that had been hindering her.

Mission accomplished, Darcy sat down beside Lizzy then bent over to pick up one of the discarded shoes on which the gilded alchemical symbols glowed dully in the candlelight.

"It is an interesting metaphor for conjugal relations," he mused. "Which one are you, the dragon or the snake?"

Coffee cup suspended halfway to her lips, Lizzy looked at the shoes and blushed. "I just thought the design apropos for marriage!" she expostulated. "The ouroboros*—representing eternity!" Then, growing bold, "You surely don't intend to bite my toes?"

Darcy gave her a wicked look. "I will not object if you bite mine."

Lizzy opened her mouth in surprise then touched the ruby pin in his cravat with her finger. "I believe you are flirting with me!"

"Definitely," he smiled, laying the slipper back down on the floor.

"I suppose since I have fangs," he added meditatively, stretching back on the sofa and loosening his cravat, "I must be the snake, making you the dragon."

"I will do my very best to out-dragon your aunt Catherine," replied Lizzy stoutly.

"To your health," said Darcy, toasting her.

The coffee cup chinked against the wine glass.

"And to yours," said Lizzy meaningfully, "—a better future."

She cosied up beside him as they drank, enjoying the warmth of his body, the smell of him. Outside in the hallway the clock struck eleven.

"I had better go," said Darcy, setting his empty wine glass down.

"Be careful," said Lizzy, knowing he was ranging further afield tonight because of the wedding.

"I will. Try to get some sleep. I shall endeavour to be back no later than two," said Darcy, wiping his lips with his black handkerchief and pressing them to her forehead.

After changing to black and hugging Lizzy once more, Darcy slipped silently from the room into Pemberley's deserted halls. Lizzy retired to her new bedchamber briefly to remove her wedding dress. Outside, she could hear the revelry continuing. Her new maid, a granddaughter of Mrs Reynolds, was waiting for her.

Encouraging her maid to return to the festivities, Lizzy retired to the shared sitting room, to fall asleep on the sofa wearing only a silken wrap.

She was woken just after two by Darcy.

"Are you ready, sleepyhead?" he asked.

Lizzy opened one eye. "Aye," she said fuzzily.

She felt two hands slide beneath her. Then she was lifted as if she was a feather. She leaned blearily against his chest and was surprised when her cheek touched warm, smooth skin. She woke more properly, instantly.

"You are not wearing black!" she exclaimed.

Darcy chuckled. "I changed into my nightshirt before waking you."

Lizzy blushed at her stupidity, then drew her head away from his chest to survey him. The neck of his nightshirt was open and askew, caught between their bodies. Her husband had a little hair on his chest. One flat pink nipple peeped from beneath the cambric shirt. She felt her own nipples harden in response.

They entered his bedchamber, imbued with his scent, and Lizzy found herself placed gently on the edge of the mattress. Glancing around she saw the chains laid out on the bedclothes. Darcy walked around the edge of the bed and sat down on the other side, stretching out his long, bare legs. Lizzy's eyes were immediately drawn to them; the expanse of bare skin positively riveting her eyes. The muscle of his upper thigh gained her attention first, powerful but covered with enough dark hair to almost constitute fur, or so it seemed to her female mind. His knees, shins and calves had the shapeliness of a classical statue, the allusion only marred by his large, long feet that seemed too big in comparison, though the skin gleamed like marble.

Lizzy started when Finn moved forward silently from the shadows and began to fasten the shackles around Darcy's shapely ankles. She felt a protest well up in her throat that her husband should be thus imprisoned but stifled the silly impulse before it could emerge from her lips. Darcy reached out, as if aware of her turmoil, to claim Lizzy's hand. Finn moved around the bed and Darcy lay back, still holding Lizzy's left hand in his right. He surrendered his left hand to Finn who pinioned it with another shackle at the bedhead.

"Finn has devised something new for my right hand," said Darcy, indicating a chain that was dangling from the canopy, "so that all my limbs will be restrained at all times. That way, there is no possibility of my freeing myself. This one chain is longer to give me some freedom of movement but there is a pinion on the bedpost to which it can be secured so that the end attached to the manacle is as short as the others. Finn has marked the correct link with a piece of red cloth. Do you see it?"

"Yes," replied Lizzy, rising up on her knees to touch the marked link with her finger as Finn fastened the manacle on Darcy's wrist.

"Try securing it now," encouraged Darcy. "It has a pin mechanism similar to the manacles."

After some fumbling with the unfamiliar mechanism, Lizzy managed it while Finn looked on. Darcy demonstrated once more the range of his movements.

"Thank you, Finn," said Darcy. "I believe we can manage ourselves from here."

"Very well, sir," said Finn, looking a little nervous. "I will just be next door if you should need me. Yell my name, ma'am, if you should require assistance."

With that, the valet departed.

"If you are in agreement, my dear," said Darcy. "I think we should start with the right chain loose."

"Very well," said Lizzy, releasing the pin from the link.

"With your permission, we will do the reverse of the other night, I will pleasure you first, then you must secure my right hand and climb on top of me."

Trusting to his superior knowledge, Lizzy lay beside him in the crook of his arm. They kissed cautiously as they tested Darcy's self-control. First a few pecks, then longer engagements of the lips. Soon they were both breathing rather heavily. Lizzy began to feel almost delirious.

"Slide up," begged Darcy as his lips descended to Lizzy's chin and strained to reach her neck.

Feeling a little nervous but lulled by the exquisite feeling of his right hand caressing the silk over her bottom, Lizzy obeyed. She felt his lips and his tongue descend to kiss and lap at her neck as his hand roamed her body. Darcy drew back occasionally, freezing and turning his head away. Lizzy realised he was regaining his self-control, but it felt weird, as if they were playing a bedchamber game of 'sly fox'.* The feelings he was evoking were exquisite but she longed for him to repeat her experience of the other night. By the time his fingers slid onto her naked bottom and then between her thighs, her breathing was quite ragged. She gasped when the cold metal of the manacle grazed her thigh.

"Sorry," he apologised. "Perhaps it would help if you rolled onto your back and pulled your knees up and apart."

This seemed highly indecorous, but Lizzy felt little inclination to protest. That wonderful feeling was building again as he teased her flesh.

"Slide up further," Darcy begged and Lizzy obeyed.

She felt inclined to protest when his hand withdrew momentarily to pull her gown off one shoulder. She shuddered when she felt his lips enclose her left nipple, then sighed with content when his hand returned between her thighs.

"Now," Darcy said, his lips and breath tickling the flesh of her breast. "Let me know if I hurt you."

She gasped as she felt his finger push inside her but the pain was over in a moment. When he began to slide his finger back and forth, it was like he had anointed her with oil. Lizzy gave in to the most delicious sensations.

"Nice?" he asked.

"Yes," Lizzy gasped, finding her hips thrusting forward to meet his palm.

"Stop for a moment," he cautioned after a while.

She obeyed, thinking he needed another moment to recoup but instead she felt a second finger slide inside her. It was even better than before. Her hips found their rhythm again.

When Darcy finally withdrew, Lizzy was gasping for breath. She felt his hand slide beneath the silk of her dressing gown and grasp the flesh of one cheek of her bottom, pulling her towards him for another kiss.

"You had better secure my right hand," said Darcy, tearing himself from her lips.

Lizzy could hear he was almost as breathless as she was.

Dutifully, she wrenched herself away from him and shortened the chain.

"I should climb astride you, like last time?" she asked.

"Yes," he gasped, spreadeagled on the sheet.

Lizzy hesitated for a moment as she contemplated his nether regions which had been safely tucked away in his breeches during their last tryst. She encountered something like a tent over a tent pole. Clearly, the night shirt needed to be out of the way, but when she pushed it towards his chest, she was confronted with a spectacle that in no way resembled the delicate appendages that could be tucked away behind the fig leaves of statuary.

"Good Lord! Am I meant to impale myself on that?" she gasped.

Despite his almost delirious state of desire, Darcy could not help but smiling. "That is the general idea."

"It is not possible!"

"I think you will find that it is."

Dubiously, Lizzy contemplated her task. _This was much more difficult than horse riding!_

"I regret I am unable to offer you my hands to assist you," apologised Darcy, "but I assure you it will not break if you are clumsy."

Resolute, Lizzy threw one leg across Darcy's hips, then went down on all fours to try to position herself. One hand moved to his chest for balance while the other reached out timidly to wrangle the shaft into position. She hardly knew where it was to go.

"Am I hurting you?" Lizzy asked as she fumbled.

A wide smile cracked Darcy's lips. "Definitely not."

She ended up centring it where she had felt his fingers play and pushed her weight down upon it. Astonishingly, everything seemed to line up. It felt so good—much better than his clever fingers; as if it was made to fit. With each push she felt him embedded a little deeper into her, filling her up, until finally she felt he could go no further.

Then she began to ride him. She became so caught up with the exquisite pleasure of this that she only glanced occasionally at him, listening instead to his groans, exclamations and occasional words of encouragement. A sudden stiffening and upthrust of his body made her cling to him for balance. The gown fell off her shoulders, his eyes flashed and then rolled back into his head. He threw his head back, and in that moment his fangs sprang from his jaws like a cat's claws encountering a mouse. A thrill of terror lanced through Lizzy, piercing the heightened sense of giddiness welled up to near overflowing. When a voice cried out—oh!—Lizzy was startled to discover it had issued from herself. Darcy bucked again, letting out a primeval yell. The fangs disappeared.

"Are you all right?" gasped Lizzy, hardly knowing if he was in command of himself.

A broad grin blossomed on his face. He tilted his chin up and rolled it around on his shiooulders, letting out a contented groan. "Yes, my darling," he reassured her. "I only lost control for a moment there."

In the ensuing silence, the polite knock at the door sounded like a thunderclap.

"Is everything all right in there?" came Finn's voice.

"Yes!" they replied in unison as Lizzy clutched at the wrap, bringing the halves hastily together from where the sleeves had pooled in the crook of her elbows.

After Finn's footsteps retreated, Darcy then burst out into an almost hysterical fit of chuckling, punctuated only by gasps for breath.

"Oh! release me!" he finally managed, his chest heaving. "Just the right hand."

Lizzy parted company with him, a rather messy business only made tolerable by the black silk handkerchiefs Finn had left stacked on the end of the bed. She had wondered what those were for. Releasing the pin that shortened the right chain, Lizzy dutifully climbed back onto his torso again when Darcy requested it and folded herself down onto his chest as his arm wrapped around her, pressing her breasts up against him. The skin to skin contact was exquisite. He was sweaty and smelt wonderful.

"Oh! I am so glad that it worked, Fitzwilliam," she said, hugging him.

"Is that all?" Darcy asked in mock indignation, tussling her hair with his free hand.

"And it was a lot of fun," Lizzy assured him. "Except for the bit where you scared me."

"Nonsense," joked Darcy. "That was the best bit. You tightened so wonderfully, just at the right time. What a spectacular finish!"

"I have no idea what you are talking about," Lizzy confessed. "And it wouldn't have been fun if Finn had run in on us."

"You did very well for a neophyte, my brilliant dear one," said Darcy who wouldn't have been perturbed in Finn had, but appreciated his bride might feel differently. "And in trying circumstances too! Forgive me for not being able to help you more. Did you get some instructions from your aunt?"

"Yes, though she tried to extricate herself by assuring me you were a 'man of the world'."

Darcy merely kissed Lizzy's hair in reply and she snuggled closer.

"I'm glad we did that little experiment the other night," confided Lizzy. "It gave me a better idea of what was involved, particularly after Charlotte's horrid disclosures about my cousin during my trip to Hunsford." She sighed. "I can only thank God that Mariah was around most of the time to still her sister's tongue. I could only bear listening to Charlotte by reminding myself that it probably did her good to have someone to talk to. How I wish Lady Lucas had bestirred herself to go Hunsford to offer some succour to her daughter!"

"Good Lord!" said Darcy. "You had an even worse time in Hunsford than I thought!"

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*Beast—in this context, a beef cow.

*in the 18th and early 19th century, books were originally printed with soft covers, typically marbled, and custom bound to order.

*Special Licence—normally wedding ceremonies had to be held be noon, presumably so funerals and christenings could be held in the afternoon.

*sward—an expanse of short grass mown by sickles

*catcall—rowdy noises from a theatre audience, encompassing yells and whistles, which might heckle the performance or encourage anything occurring on stage such as sexual innuendo.

*sly fox—a children's game where the 'foxes' have to creep up on the 'shepherd' and tag him while his back in turned. All foxes that are caught moving when the shepherd peeks are sent back to the starting line.


	46. A twist in the tale

**Given that Darcy is practically immortal, I had originally toyed with the idea of making this a series. Unfortunately, on just about every fanfiction metric it has proved one of my less popular stories. Especially when you have reviewers urging you to finish :) Nonetheless, I had fun writing it. Thank you again to my reviewers for coming along on the ride and helping to shape the story.**

 **Here it is—the last chapter. As I have a backlog of books in my publication pipeline, I will keep this story up for a while—until there has been no review for a month or it reaches half a million views, like my other stories. I will take a short break now while I push the publication process along for _Sweet Torment_ and _The Lectrice._ I should be back to continue _Cinder Lizzy_ soon.**

 **If you want me to continue _The Raven_ , please review. Like _Nemesis_ , I will not be taking it forward unless I get ten reviews for the first chapter. If I do continue it, it will, like _Ruth_ , be an occasional story.**

 **Suggestions for the title of chapter 45 were:**

 **"The Beginning" by _Deanna27_ ,**

 **"chains of love [got a hold on me]" or "my baby's got me locked up in chains" or "A Wedding Night Ride", "Wedding Night Restraint", "A Most Unusual Wedding Night" by _suddenlysingle_ ,**

 **"Bless and bliss" or "A ride to HEAven" _Laura Saint-yves_ ,**

 **"Cindereliza and the Golden Slippers" by _nanciellen_ ,**

 **"Finally" or "Finally a new beginning/something new" or "(Leg) Shakled" or "Bound (for life?)" by _beaty_ ,**

 **"I give you my hand" by _Windchimed_ ,**

 **"The Ties That Bind" by _Dizzy Lizzy.60_.**

 **I also re-entered "Bonds of love" by _Anglocelt_ , which was suggested for a previous chapter.**

 **Oh, so many really clever ones! I thought of "my hand in marriage" based on your suggestion, _Windchimed_. Kudos! And I liked "The Ties That Bind" by _Dizzy Lizzy.60_. I decided to go with "Leg–Shackled" by _beaty_.**

 **Finally the three chapter winners, chosen randomly are**

 **35, 29, 37.**

 **That's**

 **35: "Slightly disguised" by _Deanna27_ ,**

 **29: "I'll take the red" by _YepItsMe_ ,**

 **37: "A cryptic encounter" by _Laura Saint Yves_.**

 **Congratulations! I'll be contacting you shortly on how to claim your prize and thank you to everyone who entered!**

* * *

 **Chapter 46**

Darcy and Lizzy continued to caress each other as they lay in the afterglow of their lovemaking. It would have been wonderful to fall asleep in each other's arms, perhaps to wake and make love again. Both knew that could not happen.

Lizzy, feeling her eyelids drooping, eventually tore herself away. She freed Darcy from his shackles before she left. Then she drew her wrap around her and gave him a chaste parting kiss. There was still a good hour left of the night, which Darcy intended to employ reading before retiring to be reshackled before sunrise. They had made a pact to go down for breakfast together before noon.

When Lizzy woke, she felt a little disoriented before realising she was in the mistress's chamber, cocooned within the hangings of the four-poster bed. Her trunk had been moved there yesterday after she had dressed for the ceremony upstairs in the guest chamber she had originally occupied. She had not drawn the hangings when she had climbed sleepily into bed in the morning. Her maid must have done so when she entered the room. Stretching her hand out, Lizzy tugged at the hangings to open them. She succeeded in parting them a couple of inches, enough to establish that the curtains over the windows were still closed, making it difficult to read the time on the ormolu clock* on the mantelpiece. A figure emerged from the dressing room. It was Sally Reynolds, her new maid.

"Would the mistress like the hangings open?" the girl asked.

"What time is it, Sally?"

"Almost eleven, ma'am. I would have woken you in a few minutes as your note requested me."

"Yes, please open the hangings, and the curtains also, so I can get used to the light."

The girl tugged on the bell pull near the bed and proceeded to draw the curtains while Lizzy lay back on the pillows and surveyed her new chamber. Beyond noting the room's high ceiling and opulence, she'd had little time or desire to examine it yesterday evening when she had taken off her wedding gown by candlelight. She had been filled with nervous anticipation for the consummation of her marriage.

In the morning sun, she now saw that the room was a cheery yellow and thought she rather liked it. It was beautiful without being overly pompous or fussy. The walls were a solid colour, with only some leaves painted above the picture rail as an adornment. A single portrait of a lady graced the walls. The floor was covered with a large Aubusson rug in autumn hues. On the whole Lizzy felt she could be comfortable here without changing a thing—perhaps the portrait. It somehow felt uncomfortable to have an unknown person constantly staring at you. Perhaps it would do better in the portrait gallery.

Tossing this thought aside, Lizzy sighed with relief and contentment. Her body had a wonderful 'used' feeling to it, like she had been on an energetic walk. Her anxieties last night had not only been those of a maiden confronted with the mysteries that had been kept from her for the best part of her life. She had lied by omission last night when she had implied to Darcy that her recent enlightenment had only been due to her aunt and Charlotte, who through embarrassment or sheer awfulness had given her nothing to look forward to.

No, Lizzy had also the inescapable experience of Lydia who described to Kitty at any moment when no servant was by, the remarkable powers of that seducer Mr Wickham. Lizzy had unfortunately walked in on several of those confidences. One could at least say that Lydia had truly enjoyed her ruin.

So Lizzy had known the act could be enjoyable with an eager and experienced lover. But what, she had thought, of her? With her husband in chains, Lizzy had realised that she would have to have a more active part in a process she was barely familiar with. It had been a daunting thought—so daunting, that she had thrown herself into the wedding preparations with gusto, even though she had always disdained Kitty and Lydia chattering constantly of the details of their proposed nuptials with every officer who had taken their fancy.

Now she could be easier. With her husband's help Lizzy had cleared the first hurdle and was now truly Mrs Darcy. She felt an upwelling of pride in her accomplishment and in tender feelings for her husband. If she had been the driver, it was Darcy's gentle initiation and encouragement that had instructed their success.

True, there were many hurdles yet to negotiate in their marriage, the chief of which was the need to master alchemy and any other branch of science that might bring Darcy further relief from his unnatural urges. Ultimately there was the riddle of his condition to be solved, the complete restoration of his humanity. Whether it was achievable, Lizzy did not know but she was determined to give it her best shot.

What she did know now was that aside from his vampirism, Darcy was not an ordinary man. He had resource and determination beyond that of most of his fellows. That was what she had finally appreciated during the short time she had so far been in residence at Pemberley; the thing that had converted her pity to an appreciation of his finer qualities. The count had certainly known what he was doing in choosing Fitzwilliam Darcy as his 'disciple'.

The clock in the hall struck eleven. There was a knock on the door and a chambermaid entered carrying a brass pail of hot water, which she handed to Sally. After a brief whispered exchange, the chambermaid left with a chamberpot and Sally retreated to the dressing room to prepare for Lizzy's toilette. In her moment of privacy, Lizzy used the chamberpot in the bed steps. It was going to take some getting used to—being waited on hand and foot.

When Sally came into the room, Lizzy asked if the portrait was of her husband's mother.

"No, that is his maternal grandmother, ma'am. The eighth Countess of Matlock. She was a great beauty but died very young."

Lizzy nodded. It seemed the room had not been changed since the former Mrs Darcy had last used it. Her lips twisted into a smile to think of her own mother's portrait hanging there, wearing her lace cap. Maybe not.

Once her ablutions were finished, Sally helped Lizzy into her gown and deftly arranged her hair in an elaborate style. Lizzy had already appreciated Sally's efforts yesterday when she had trialed her as maid during the preparations for the wedding on the housekeeper's recommendation. Clearly Mrs Reynolds had been training her granddaughter well in the hope she might assume the post of the mistress's maid one day. Despite Georgie's recommendation that Lizzy acquire a French maid in London like herself, Lizzy thought Sally would do very well.

Lizzy emerged from the dressing room, fragrant and feeling more polished than she was used to, to consult the ormolu clock once more. It was now a quarter to twelve. She drew back the bolt that Finn had arranged to be fitted to the internal door by the blacksmith from Lambton. He had also fitted bolts to the windows so they could be left safely in a partially open position. Mr Darcy was very careful for the safety of his new wife.

Opening the door, Lizzy spied Fitzwilliam waiting for her in their shared sitting room.

"Good morning," said Darcy, setting down the book he was reading to stand up. "I hope you slept well?"

Lizzy could see that he was a little embarrassed and wondered what could be the cause of it.

"Yes, thank you," she replied. "I am sure that I will be sleepy this afternoon, but for the moment I feel refreshed."

Darcy hesitated. "I hope you are not sore. I must apologise for my behaviour—laughing and so on. I expect it was not what you had imagined. I should have been more tender."

Lizzy stepped forward to squeeze his hand. "I was not offended and I think I understand. It must have been quite cathartic?"

He drew her into a tight embrace. "Thank you," he whispered into her hair.

Lizzy hugged him back, again wondering what it was that made him smell so wonderful. It seemed Darcy would never let her go, but finally his hold slackened. He stepped back and self-consciously straightened his waistcoat.

"What are you reading?" asked Lizzy, bridging the awkward moment.

"I have been comparing your notes to the alchemical text you were studying. I must say they are considerably enlightening. I was terribly daunted when I first looked at those books after purchasing them. They seemed like so much gibberish."

Lizzy laughed. "I know what you mean. I have a copy of that very book in my still room at Longbourn, which was why I chose it as my entrée. I was surprised by how much progress I made in better understanding the text. I suppose that my repeated attempts to understand it helped. It seemed to suddenly reveal itself."

Darcy took her hand. "Perhaps it is because you now have a sense of purpose."

Lizzy nodded slowly. "I believe you are right. It is difficult. No doubt my lazy mind shied from the effort before. Now I know I must understand it, I struggle that bit harder."

Darcy looked at her proudly and saw a wicked gleam steal into her eye.

"As for gibberish," ventured Lizzy, "I'll have you know that Sir Isaac Newton spent many an hour poring over texts like these and doing his own experiments."

"Impossible!" said Darcy hotly. "He was England's greatest scientist!"

"It is true," averred Lizzy. "My father was about to go to Cambridge on Lord Pevensey's behalf to start the rather daunting task of going through Newton's extensive notes at Trinity. I believe nearly a third of Newton's writings were on alchemy and there were probably more—some were destroyed by a fire in his laboratory."

"Interesting," said Darcy. "And are the notes still at Trinity?"

"I could not say. I believe Lord Pevensey wished to acquire them but whether he succeeded I do not know. My father would certainly have liked to get his hands on them. On the few occasions he referred to them, I detected a note of regret in his voice, a sense of lost opportunity."

The poignancy of Lizzy's last statement was unfortunately undermined by a tummy rumble.

"Oh dear!" she laughed apologetically, clutching her midriff. "Shall we go downstairs?"

* * *

No one thought it strange when the newlyweds descended to the breakfast room together as planned, particularly those who had also gone to bed in the wee hours to wake with an aching head. The Gardiners were pleased to see that Lizzy positively glowed and was looking very sophisticated with a new hairstyle and a spencer* they had not seen before. Darcy looked happier and easier than his relatives had known him for years, recalling them to those halcyon days of his youth before his father had died.

"Oh! They adjusted it so well!" said Georgie of the jacket as Lizzy down beside her. "It looks ever so much better on you than it ever did on me!"

"Nonsense, Georgie," replied Elizabeth. "However, it you have grown so tall as to no longer fit into your clothes, I will not disdain them!"

Darcy smiled upon his wife. He knew his sister's clothes for her come-out had cost a small fortune. When he had seen the bill from the modiste he had vaguely wondered if they were lined with gold. No wonder they usually waited till girls were full grown before taking into society! He was glad Elizabeth could make some use of them. He knew he would not get a tenth of their price if sold secondhand, as the countess had advised him, and there were no female cousins upon which to bestow them.

The Right Reverend Avery Fitzwilliam departed for Lincoln shortly after they dined. The countess returned to Matlock soon after, begging Darcy to apprise her of when they would next be in London so that she might relocate there from Hampstead.

Thankful he could once more retreat to the darkness of his study, Darcy spent the afternoon with Lizzy, studying the alchemical texts while the Gardiners took advantage of the sunny day to roam the gardens with Bingley and Georgiana. When Darcy tried to encourage Lizzy outside, she expressed contentment with her current situation, reminding him that they might be forced to keep their distance from as early as tomorrow.

So it turned out to be. The morning brought Lizzy's period. Not one to repine at the end of their abbreviated honeymoon, Lizzy was merely happy that she had spent a second evening of intimacy with Darcy before their enforced separation. She had insisted he take his nightshirt off before being restrained and was thoroughly glad she had done so. Images of his well muscled shoulders and chest set her daydreaming for several days afterwards.

She spent her subsequent mornings with Georgie and Jane, industriously cleaning and rearranging the still-room, or at least she and Jane did so while Georgie gave orders to the chambermaids who had been enlisted to help them. The Gardiners and Bingley went fishing. The Bennet sisters spent their afternoons together, either in the gardens when it was sunny or in one of the parlours when the weather was not conducive to being outdoors. Darcy occasionally joined them for tea so as not to appear unsocial but these were awkward moments when he had to keep his distance from Lizzy without appearing to be shunning his wife.

At last the period of danger passed and the Gardiners' apprehensions that their niece's marriage might have already encountered a shoal were assuaged. Their last three days in Derbyshire were spent very comfortably in the company of their niece and new nephew, allowing them to say farewell with every assurance of Elizabeth's future felicity.

For Lizzy, the final parting from Jane was bittersweet. They had never been much apart before. Elizabeth knew that she, at least, had the solace of having found a companion worthy of her heart and mind. She still worried for Jane about Bingley's constancy, especially since he was braving family disapproval in marrying Jane. Tears were shed.

Lizzy received a heartfelt hug from Georgiana as she waved her relatives off down the drive.

"Well," said Georgie. "I am of the firm opinion that we need to go to Derby for some shopping to cheer ourselves up, or even as far as York."

"Do what you must, Georgie," commented Darcy. "But I have promised Bingley I will return the favour by standing up with him for his wedding in Hertfordshire as soon as he has settled the date. So I expect we will be returning there and thence to London in a few weeks time."

Georgie clapped her hands together and jumped up and down. "Oh, Elizabeth! I want to show you all the shops! And you must use my modiste! She is the best in London!"

"It would appear your sister is bent on spending all of the outrageous sum you have bestowed on me for pin money!" Lizzy teased Darcy.

"That is what pin money is for," said Darcy languidly. "Now if you don't mind, I would like to go back to the depths of my study."

* * *

The Gardiners' journey southward with Jane and Bingley was pleasant and uneventful. Bingley was an amiable travelling companion and Mr Gardiner was glad of his help in defraying the cost of the journey. Nonetheless, as they neared Longbourn, the fact that Mr Gardiner had given away his brother-in-law's favourite daughter in marriage without so much as a 'by your leave' began to prey on his mind.

At little worried at the possibility of a scene, Mr Gardiner convinced Bingley he would best make his appearance at Longbourn tomorrow around noon, once the Gardiners had departed for London with their small tribe of children. Mrs Bennet, Bingley was assured, would be overjoyed to see him and her congratulations on the impending marriage would be unimpeded by the Gardiners' arrival or departure. So they dropped Bingley off at Netherfield where Mrs Nicholls was expecting him.

When the post-chaise arrived at Longbourn, Fanny was the first out the door to greet them, even before the Gardiner children came bounding from the garden. She was greatly disappointed that Mr Bingley was not among them and so effusive in her congratulations to Jane that she at first completely failed to notice Lizzy's absence. The travellers had all removed their hats and proceeded to the parlour for tea before the eldest Gardiner child remarked on it just as Mr Bennet walked into the room.

"Where is Aunt Lizzy?" rang into an unfortunate silence.

"Well, Brother," said Mr Gardiner, turning to address Mr Bennet rather than the querying child, "as you asked us to find someone for Lizzy after Jane's betrothal, we did so! You know we were visiting Pemberley. Well, she married Mr Darcy! I have a letter from her here for each of you."

And so saying he drew two letters from his waistcoat and handed them to the respective parents. Mr Bennet went a little white about the mouth but Mrs Bennet amply filled the silence with a squeal of delight.

She hastened to open her letter and proceeded to acquaint the whole company with its contents and her commentary upon it while Mr Bennet quietly tucked his into his waistcoat.

"Oh, Brother! I cannot tell you how happy this makes me!" Mrs Bennet said in conclusion. "Two daughters married! And so well! We are saved!"

"Yes," said Mr Bennet urbanely as he sipped his tea. "I can meet my Maker now without worrying you unduly."

"You know, Mr Bennet," said his wife, "that we all wish you a long and prosperous life. But it is a comfort to know that we will not be destitute if you do not do so!"

At that moment the youngest Gardiner child ran up to give his father another hug, so pleased was he to see him, and Mr Gardiner used the distraction to smooth over the awkward moment.

"Well!" he declared, "how have you three bunnies been getting along, eh?"

"Aunt Lydia is getting really fat," replied the child innocently.

"Oh!" said Mrs Bennet, waxing lyrical again. "Dear Lizzy! What jewels and carriages she will have!"

* * *

Although things had not gone off too badly. Mr Gardiner was certainly glad he had persuaded Mr Bingley to delay his appearance. Nonetheless he felt bad about Mr Bennet's reaction. One could never tell with his mercurial brother-in-law; he seemed a master of perversity.

Later, when Mr Bennet had returned to his study after dinner, Mr Gardiner sought him out in a second attempt to set things right.

Mr Bennet raised his head from a book when Mr Gardiner poked his head around the door. Mr Bennet's rather belligerent expression, used for warding off Mrs Bennet and silly daughters, was not encouraging.

"I hope I did not do wrong in promoting Lizzy's marriage, Brother," began Mr Gardiner. "Although it may have seemed precipitate, I believe Mr Darcy's partiality for Lizzy is quite longstanding. He had formed quite an attachment to her ere he rescued her from the burning parsonage, you know."

Mr Bennet's awful expression receded and was replaced by one of polite indifference.

"Indeed," said Mr Bennet. "Mr Darcy sent some tokens of his affection before departing Netherfield. As for Lizzy, one can never tell what silly girls will do."

He returned to reading his book.

With this Mr Gardiner had to be satisfied. But as he left the study, he saw Lizzy's letter lying open on Mr Bennet's desk, satisfying him that at least Mr Bennet had read it.

* * *

Jane and Bingley were married two weeks later to great fanfare. Mrs Bennet did her daughter proud, with the best wedding dress and breakfast the shire had seen for some time. Bingley's relatives may not have made it from Yorkshire, but several of his friends and colleagues ventured down from London for the day, and the Gardiners also returned.

The Darcys did make it from Derbyshire, to stay at Netherfield. Despite the morning hour, Darcy stood up with his friend, arriving with Lizzy and Georgie in his dark coach, wearing his dark glasses and carrying a black parasol. He caused quite a stir among the villagers who later celebrated Jane's nuptials with a keg Mr Bennet had provided at the inn. They jokingly declared Lizzy Bennet had married the Prince of Darkness.

Mrs Bennet was too busy with the wedding to complain that Darcy and Mr Bennet spent the wedding breakfast in Mr Bennet's darkened study. Lizzy was quite amused to find them sitting in opposite corners of the study reading books and looking equally imperturbable in their solitude when she took some food in to them. Evidently her husband was completely impervious to her father's attempts to freeze him out of countenance.

After Jane and Bingley took themselves off to Netherfield, Lizzy also repaired to the study with her copious notes on the alchemical texts she had been studying and queried her father extensively on the topic. The ice was broken and Mr Bennet even became quite animated when he discovered his son-in-law had begun performing some experiments to resolve some of Lizzy's questions. All was forgiven.

Outside the celebrations continued. The Darcys declined dinner, citing overindulgence at the feast. They set off for Netherfield shortly after sunset. The coachman set the master down at the crossroads so that he might stretch his legs and get some night air while Lizzy and Georgie proceeded onto Netherfield alone.

The presence of Georgie prevented Jane from confiding in her sister the following morning, but Lizzy was glad to see from Jane's blushes and smiles that everything seemed to have gone well.

Two days later the Darcys departed Hertfordshire for London for Georgie's shopping spree.

Mrs Bennet was at first perturbed to hear The Bingleys intended to forgo Netherfield for an estate in Hemel Hampstead. She became reconciled to the move upon discovering it was a far grander residence.

Nonetheless, all was not perfect for the Bennets that year, for Miss Lydia became ill and the manor house was quarantined. Whether she had the smallpox or typhoid was never quite established, but the disease seemed to run it course through the family and the household servants. The quarantine sign stared balefully from the closed gates for a good six months—so long, that the villagers and the tenants began to wonder if any of the inhabitants would survive.

The apothecary, Mr Jones, was initially very put out when a London physician was consulted. It seemed they were getting very grand now that their two eldest had married well. But when he became aware of the seriousness of the disease, he was quite philosophical about the situation. The Bennets had been very good customers and would no doubt be again—if any of them survived. His bruised feelings were recovered remarkably when a order for some powders arrived by proxy, which he delivered to the gate.

One who seemed to escape the scourge was Mrs Bennet, who waddled out to the front gate occasionally to receive deliveries.

Although the smallest Gardiner had noticed that Lydia was getting fat, the villagers were more preoccupied with the astonishing change in girth of Mrs Bennet after the wedding. Eventually someone was bold enough to ask her if she was expecting. Fanny smiled, clutched her stomach and replied that, yes, the Lord had seen fit to bless her with another child. The villagers shook their heads and predicted all sorts of ill-omens for both the mother and the babe in the light of Longbourn's affliction.

Finally, just before Christmas, after the London physician was summoned once more, Mr Hill took down the quarantine sign. It appeared that the Bennets and all their servants had survived.

The Lucases thought it best to not visit immediately, lest there be any lingering chance of infection, but they could not resist driving past Longbourn to check if the rumour that the sign had come down was true. Accordingly, a family who they occasionally visited beyond Longbourn was remembered and their coachman instructed to drive slowly past the manor house so that their rattling carriage might not disturb the tranquillity of the afflicted residents.

The Lucases were a little chagrined to be caught out in their snooping when they happened upon a very rotund Mrs Bennet talking to her sister Mrs Philips and the rector's wife at Longbourn's gate.

Sir William pulled the checkstring to instruct the coachman to come to a complete halt.

"Mrs Bennet!" he said, leaning out of the carriage. "How good to see you out and about! We would stop but we are on our way to Mrs Halcombe. I hope you and the family are well?"

"Oh, yes, Sir William," replied Fanny, adopting her best melodramatic tone. "Sadly pulled*, especially Lydia, who was the last afflicted, but she is on the road to recovery. Would you care to come in? Lydia is not downstairs yet but the doctor has assured us there is no longer a chance of infection."

"I'm afraid Mrs Halcombe is expecting us," said Sir William with a stutter. "And I am sure we have no wish to tire you or disturb Mr Bennet."

Lady Lucas hastily nodded her agreement.

"Thank you for your consideration, Sir William," said Fanny with an unusual twinkle in her eye. "My time is so close, I can hardly waddle about, but it is a great comfort to have my sister able to visit again."

The Lucases breathed a collective sigh of relief that they were not to be exposed by being drawn inside.

"Well!" said Lady Lucas once they were safely on the road again. "Who would have thought at her age that she would have brought it to term!"

"Fanny is only forty, my dear," replied Sir William. "I wish her all the best, but there is still the difficult matter of the birth, which at such an age is especially dangerous to both mother and child. Besides, after five daughters, what else is likely but another?"

A few days later Mrs Bennet gave birth to a strapping boy.

 **Finis**

* * *

 **Footnotes**

*ormolu clock—a gold-coloured alloy of copper, zinc, and tin used in decoration and making ornaments. This process involved mercury and has been supplanted by electroplating.

*spencer—the high-waisted bolero jackets fashionable at the time

*aunt—Lizzy and Lydia are actually cousins to the Gardiner children. 'Aunt' is used here as an honorific because of the age difference.

*checkstring—a cord used by a passenger in a carriage to signal to the driver to slow down or go faster


End file.
